FRANCISCO   FRANCIA.DEL 


SAM. H.WALLIN, SCULP 


PEN    AND    PENCIL 


MRS.     BALM  ANNO 


-T    ^ 


NEW     Y  O  R K  : 
D.    APPLETON    &    CO.,    348    BROADWAY, 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1857,  by 

MIJS.   MAKY   BALMANXO, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  tiie  District  Court  of  the  Luited  States  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


K.    CRAIGIIEAD,    PRINTER  AND  STEREOTYPES, 

Carton  Btu'Iti;n^, 
81,  83,  and  85  Centr 


PREFACE. 


USTOM  and  courtesy  alike  demand  a  Preface. 
The  Authoress  of  PEN  AND  PENCIL  therefore  avails 
herself  of  it  to  say,  that  she  would  fain  have  made 
the  work  more  worthy  of  those  who  have  done 
her  the  honor  to  patronise  it,  as  well  as  of  others 
who  may  become  its  readers.  Notwithstanding-  a 
consciousness  of  temerity  in  having,  in  this  age  of 
originality  and  invention,  put  forth  a  volume  con 
sisting  chiefly  of  historical  facts  and  personal  remi 
niscences,  she  yet  ventures  to  hope  that  some  degree  of  favor  may  be  accorded 
to  it  on  the  plea  of  variety,  which  even  the  best  and  wisest  acknowledge  has 
its  charms.  As  the  work  contains  so  many  notices  of  Artists  and  objects 
of  Art,  she  trusts  that  the  outline  representations  of  Grecian  Sculptures  will 
not  be  considered  inappropriate  in  an  American  publication,  as  the  time 
has  gone  by  when  the  sight  of  the  beautiful  master-pieces  of  antiquity  which 
they  serve  to  recal,  could  be  regarded  with  other  feelings  than  those  of 
admiration.  Were  it  not  so,  then  education,  taste,  refinement,  both  moral  and 
intellectual,  might  justly  be  considered  at  a  lower  ebb  in  the  United  States 
than  among  the  rest  of  the  civilized  world,  for  it  is  one  of  the  privileges  of 
Art  to  form  a  test  by  the  manner  in  which  it  is  understood  and  cultivated 
of  the  intelligence  and  refinement  of  a  people. 


LIST     OF     SUBSCRIBERS. 


SUBSCRIBERS  IN   ENGLAND. 


HIS  GRACE   THE   DUKE   OF   DEVONSHIRE,   K.  O. 

HIS    GRACE    THE    DUKE    OF    RUTLAND.     3  copies. 

HER    GRACE    THE    DUCHESS    OF    SUTHERLAND. 

THE   RIGHT   HON.    LORD   LONDESBOROUGH,  K.C.B.,  F.S,A. 

THE    RIGHT    HON.    LORD   JOHN   MANNERS,  M.P.,  &c. 

THE    RIGHT    HON.    LADY    NAPIER. 

THE   HON.    GEORGE   HENRY    CAVENDISH,    M.P.,   &c.    • 

THE   LADY   LOUISA    G.   CAVENDISH. 

THE    COUNTESS    GIGLIUCCI.      Nice,  Sardinia. 

SIR   EDWARD    BELCHER,    K.C.B.,   CAPTAIN    R.N. 

SIR   JOSEPH    PAXTON,    M.P, 

ALDIS,   CHARLES    A.,    ESQ. 

ATKINSON,    FENTON    ROBINSON,    ESQ. 

BANTING,    WILLIAM,    ESQ. 

BRADBURY,    WILLIAM,    ESQ. 

BRADLEY,   MRS.   ANNE. 

BRADLEY,    MISS    EMILY. 

CLARKE,    MRS.    MARY    COWDEN.     Jttce,  Sardinia. 

CHAMBERS,    WILLIAM,    ESQ.      Edinburgh. 

CROKER,    THOMAS    F.   DILLON,    ESQ.,    F.S  A. 

EVANS,    FREDERICK    MULLET,    ESQ. 

GRATTON,   MISS    ANNA. 

GREAVES,    MRS. 

GREAVES,    WILLIAM,    ESQ. 


LIST   OF   SUBSCRIBERS. 

GREAYES,    MRS.    WILLIAM. 

IIALLIWELL,   JAMES    ORCHARD,   ESQ.,    F.R.S.  and  F.S.A, 

HOSMER,    MISS    HARRIET.      Home, 

KEITH,    JAMES,    ESQ. 

NESFIELD,    ROBERT    WILLIAM    N.,    ESQ. 

NOVELLO,    JOSEPH    ALFRED,    ESQ.      Nice,  Sardinia. 

RACKHAM,    PETER,    ESQ. 

RANDALL,    MRS. 

SMITH,   JOHN    RUSSELL,   ESQ. 

STEVENS,    HENRY,  ESQ. 

THACKERAY,    WILLIAM    M.,   ESQ. 

THORN  HILL,    WILLIAM    POLE,    ESQ. 

WALTERS,    JAMES   L.,   ESQ. 


SUBSCRIBERS  IN   AMERICA. 


NEW    YORK. 

ANDERSON,   MRS.    ABEL  T. 

ANDERSON,  HENRY    JAMES,  M.D.  and  LL.D.,  Trustee  Colombia  Collecro. 

ANTHON,   CHARLES,    LL.D.,  Professor  of  Latin  and  Greek,  Columbia  College. 

ALLAN,    JOHN,  ESQ. 

ASTOR,    WILLIAM    B.,   ESQ. 

BATTELL,  MRS. 

BARNARD,    MAJOR    J.    G.       West  Point. 

BEALE,   MRS.    ELIZA. 

BLUXOME,    MRS.    ISAAC. 

BEECIIER,    THE    REY.    HENRY    WARD. 

BETTS,    WILLIAM,   ESQ.,    LL.D. 

BORROW,    JAMES    IL,    M.D. 

BRYANT,    WILLIAM    CULLEN,   ESQ. 

BREVOORT,    JAMES    CARSON,    ESQ. 

BUTLER,   CHARLES,    ESQ. 

CAMPBELL,    JOHN,    ESQ. 

CHAPIN,    THE    REV.    EDWIN    H. 

CHASE,    NELSON,    ESQ. 

COCHRAN,   JAMES,    ESQ 


1 


LIST  OF   SUBSCRIBERS. 

XEW  YORK  (continued). 

COGSWELL,   J.    G.,    LL.D. 

CONG  DON,    CHARLES,    ESQ. 

CUNARD,    EDWARD,    ESQ. 

CUETIS,    GEORGE,  ESQ. 

DALY,   THE    HON.    CHARLES    P.,  Judge  Common  Pleua, 

DAVIS,    CHARLES    AUGUSTUS,    ESQ. 

DAVIS,    CHARLES,   ESQ. 

DEGEN,    CHARLES    RUSSELL,   ESQ. 

DEM  ING,    RICHARD    TITUS,    ESQ. 

DE    ZENG,    WILLIAM    STEUBEN,    ESQ. 

EMBURY,    DANIEL,    ESQ. 

FRANCIS,    S.,    ESQ.,    M.D. 

GREIG,    THE    HON.    JOHN.      Canandaigna.     3  copies. 

GRINNELL,    HENRY,    ESQ. 

GRINNELL,    CORNELIUS,    ESQ. 

GRISWOLD,    ALMON    R.,   ESQ. 

GRISWOLD,    MRS.    A.    R. 

HASTIE,    PETER,   ESQ. 

IIOWLAND,    JOHN,    ESQ. 

HUNT,    FREEMAN,    ESQ 

HOSMER,    WILLIAM    II.    CUYLER,   ESQ.      Avon, 

HUNTER,   JOHN    WARD,    ESQ. 

IRVIN,    RICHARD,    ESQ. 

IRVING,    WASHINGTON,    ESQ. 

JEFFREY,    WILLIAM,    ESQ.       Canandaigua, 

JOHNSOM,    THE    REV.     EVAN    M. 

KENNEDY,    ROBERT    LENOX,    ESQ. 

KING,    CHARLES,    LL.D,,    President  of  Columbia  College. 

KIRKLAND,    MRS.    CAROLINE. 

LEUP,    CHARLES    M.,    ESQ. 

LITTLE,    W.    C.,    ESQ.      Albany. 

LOW,    MRS.    A.    II. 

LOSSING,    BENSON    J.,   ESQ. 

LOWRY,    W.    H.,    ESQ. 

MACKENZIE,    ROBERT    SHELTON,   D.C.L. 

MAGOON,    THE    REV.    DR.    ELIAS   L. 

MANN,    DONALD,  ESQ.      3  copies. 

MAXWELL,    HUGH,   ESQ. 

MARTIN,    ROBERT,   ESQ. 

MENZIES,    WILLIAM,    ESQ. 

MINTURN,    ROBERT    B.,  ESQ. 

MORGAN,    E.   E.,    ESQ. 


LIST  OF   SUBSCRIBERS. 

NEW  YORK  (continued). 

MOUNT,    CHARLES    DE    GRAY,    ESQ. 

MURRAY,    MRS.    JOHN   E. 

NORRIE,    ADAM,    ESQ. 

O'CONOR,    CHARLES,   ESQ. 

OGDEN,    JAMES    DE    PEYSTER,   ESQ. 

OGDEX,   SAMUEL    GOUVERNEUR,    .TUX.,   ESQ. 

PERRY,    MRS.    MARY    McKIE. 

PIERREPONT,    HENRY    E.,    ESQ. 

PRIESTLEY,    JOHN,  ESQ. 

RAXKINE,   JOHN,    ESQ.      Canandaigua. 

REDFIELD,      HEMAN    J.,    ESQ, 

REX  WICK,    J.,  LL.D.,  Prof.  Chem.  and  Nat.  Phil.  Col.  College.      2  copies. 

EIPLEY,    GEORGE,    ESQ. 

ROBIXSOX,    WILLIAM    D.,    ESQ. 

SPOOXER,     ALDEX    J.,   ESQ. 

STRANAHAN,    THE    HOX.    J.    T.      2  copie 

STROXG,    GEORGE    T.,    ESQ. 

STROXG,    WILLIAM    K.,   ESQ. 

SWIFT,    GENERAL    JOSEPH    G.      Genera. 

TAYLOR,    THE    HOX.    GEORGE. 

WEBSTER,    MRS.    HORACE. 

WELFORD,    CHARLES,    ESQ. 

WILLIAMS,   JOHX    H.,    ESQ. 

WYMAN,    LUTHER    B.,   ESQ.      3  copies. 


MASSACHUSETTS. 

GREENE,    MRS.    BENJAMIN.      Boston.      2  copies. 

HOSMER,    ZELOTES,    ESQ. 

JEFFRIES,    MRS.    JOHN,  JUN. 

LEE,    MRS.    GEOKGE    G. 

LIVERMORE,    GEORGE,  ESQ, 

LONGFELLOW,    JAMES    WENTWORTII,  ESQ. 

QUINCY,    JOSIAH    PHILLIPS,  ESQ. 

QUINCY,    MISS    MARY    SOPHIA. 

QUINCY,    MISS   ABBY   PHILLIPS 

SWIFT,    MRS.    WILLIAM    II. 

STOWE,  THE    REV.    CALVIN    E.,   D.D.      Andover. 

STOWE.  MRS.    HARRIET    BEECHER. 

CUMMINGS,    MISS    MARIA    S.      Dorchester. 

GUILD,    MISS    ELIZA    ANN.      Newluryport. 

TRACY,    THE    REV.    THOS. 


LIST    OF    SUBSCRIBERS. 

CONNEC  I'lCUT. 
IIAMERSLEY,    WILLIAM    JAMES,    ESQ. 

PENNSYLYANIA. 

ALLIBONE,    SAMUEL    A.,  ESQ.      Philadelphia. 
CHILDS    &    PATTERSON,    MESSRS. 
CLEGHORN,    JAMES   L.,  ESQ. 
DREER,    FERDINAND    J.,    ESQ. 
HARRISON,    JOSEPH    E.,    ESQ. 
MONTGOMERY,    L.    BOND,   ESQ. 
PRIESTLEY,    ALEXANDER,    ESQ. 
SARTAIN,    JOHN,   ESQ. 


CORCORAN,    WILLIAM    W.,    ESQ. 

McGUIRE,    JAMES    C.,    ESQ. 

BEATON,    WILLIAM    W.,    ESQ. 

WILKES,    CAPTAIN    CHARLES,    U.   S.   NAVY. 


MARYLAND 
KENNEDY,    THE    HON.    JOHN    PENDLETON. 

VIRGINIA. 
HENRY,    MRS.    JANE.      Charlotte  County. 

KENTUCKY. 
JEFFREY,    ALEXANDER,    ESQ.      Lexington. 

NORTH   CAROLINA. 

DE    ROSSET,    ARMAND    JOHN,    ESQ. 
DICKINSON,    MRS.    ALICE. 
OSBORNE,    JAMES    W.,    ESQ. 
WRIGHT,    JOSHUA    GRAINGER,    ESQ. 


LIST    OF    SUBSCRIBERS. 

SOUTH    CAROLINA. 
SIMMS,   WILLIAM    GILMORE,  ESQ.      Charleston. 

GEORGIA, 

ANDERSON,    EDWARD    0.,  ESQ. 

ARNOLD,   THE    HON.   RICH.    D.,   M.D.      Savannah. 

BATTERSBY,    WILLIAM,    ESQ. 

BRANTLEY,    GEN.   WILLIAM    T. 

CHEEVER,    GEORGE   F.,  ESQ. 

COOPER,    JOHN   M.,   ESQ. 

COHEN,    SAMUEL,    ESQ. 

DUNCAN,    WILLIAM,    ESQ. 

FERRELL,    JOHN    C.,    ESQ. 

GALLIE,  JOHN  B.,  ESQ. 
GANAHL,  CHARLES,  ESQ. 
GORDON,  COL.  GEORGE  A. 
HARTRIDGE,  JULIEN,  ESQ. 
HODGSON,  WILLIAM  B.,  ESQ. 
HUTCHINSON,  ROBERT  J.,  ESQ. 
JONES,  GEORGE  WYMBERLEY,  ESQ. 
JONES,  COL.  AUGUSTUS  SEABORN, 
LAWSON,  COL.  ALEXANDER  R. 
MCALLISTER,  JOSEPH  A.,  ESQ. 

McALPIN,   JAMES,    ESQ. 
MERCER,    II.    WILLIAM,    ESQ. 
MOLYNEUX,    EDWARD,   ESQ. 
MORELL,    ISAAC    W.,    ESQ. 
PORTER,    MAJOR    ANTHONY. 
RICHARDSON,    JOHN,    ESQ. 
SMETS,    ALEXANDER    A.,   ESQ. 
TEFFT,    ISRAEL   K,    ESQ. 
WALKER,    ROBERT    D.,   ESQ. 
WARD,    THE    HON.    JOHN    E, 
WILLIAMS,    COL.    W.   T. 


ADDITIONAL   SUBSCRIBERS. 


KENTUCKY. 
FRASER,  OLIVER,  ESQ.     Lexington. 

CANADA    WEST. 
HILL,  MRS.  B.  C.     York,  Grand  River. 

NEW    YORK. 

HOLBERTON,  MRS.  ANNA  M.     Canandaigua. 
MAITLAND,  MRS.  ROBERT.    New  York  City. 
MAXWELL,  MRS.  ANNE. 
8MEDBERG,  MRS.  ISABELLA.  "         "        "        8  coptc 


EEEA  TA. 

In  line  6  of  illustrations,  for  Zuchero,  read  Zucchero. 
Page  24,  line  2  of  12th  stanza,  for  came,  read  come. 

"     86,  line  7  of  6th  stanza,  for  naught,  read  nought. 

"     42,  line  6,  for  Haworth,  read  Naworth. 

"     44,  line  20,  dele  asterisk  at  matter,  and  place  it  at  addition. 

"     50,  last  line  but  one,  for  Titto,  read  Fitton. 

"     60,  line  28,  for  know,  read  avow. 

"     96,  last  line,  for  Floras,  read  Flora. 

"     100,  last  line  but  one,  for  trod,  read  trode. 

"     106,  last  line,  for  of,  read  a. 

"     201,  line  8,  for  lower,  read  louder. 

"     202,  line  12,  for  with,  read  and. 

"     268,  line  20,  for  though,  read  through. 


ILLUSTKATIONS. 


Subject. 
FRONTISPIECE— UNKNOWN  ALLEGORY, . 

TITLE  PAGE-POESIS 

MOTHER  AND  CHILD, 

IIADDON  HALL,  . 

FANCY  HEAD, 

PORTRAIT-MARY  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS, 
PROCESSION  OF  CUPIDS, 

PORTRAIT-MARY  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS  (IN 
CIRCLE), 

HOLYROOD  PALACE, 

WREATH  OF  ROSES 

PORTRAIT  OF  MARY  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS 
IN  HER  GREAT  MOURNING  HOOD,  .  . 

SIGNET  RING  OF  THE  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS, 
AND  ONE  OF  THE  COPPER  COINS  CALL 
ED  BAWBEE,  BEARING  HER  LIKENESS 
WHEN  NINE  MONTHS  OLD, 

QUEEN  ELIZABETH  DANCING  "HIGH  AND 


Srstgntr. 

FRANCESCO  FRANCIA,    . 
RAPHAEL,      ..... 
M.  B.  (THE  AUTHORESS), 
W.  II.  BROOKE,  M.R.I. A. 
M.  B,   . 


ZlTfEIIEUO, 

M.  B.,  AFTER  STOTHARD,  . 
-M.  B.,  FROM  A  MEDALLION, 
M.  B.,  . 


M.  B.. 


H 


MINIATURE  IN  THE  BRI 
TISH  MUSEUM,      .    . 


DISPOSEDLY. 


[KIRKPATRICK  SHARPE,  . 


FAC  SIMILES  FROM  QUEEN  ELIZABETH'S 
PRAYER  BOOK, 

BROAD-PIECE    OF    QUEEN   ELIZABETH— 
(RESTORED), 

THE  CELEBRATED  ESSEX  RING,    .     . 
CARICATURE  OF  QUEEN  ELIZABETH  AND 
SIR  CHRISTOPHER  HATTON,    .    . 


HANS  HOLUEIN,    .    .    . 


[M.  B.,  .    . 
M.  B.,  .    . 

j-M.  B.,   .    . 


(Pngraber.        PAGB 
&  Wallin,   .... 
Lousing  &  Barrett, . 

JBobbettd;  Edmonds,  3 

Lossing  &  Barrett,  .  4 

Lossing  &  Barrett,  .  4 

A.  J.  Mason,    ...  5 

Lossing  <&  Barrett,  .  22 

Charles  Edmonds,  .  29 

Lowing  &  Barrett,  .  32 

Bobbett  &  Edmon  ds,  56 

j-  C.  Edmonds,   ...  53 


Bolbett  &  Edmonds,  61 

C.  Edmonds,    ...  66 

Lossing  <&  Barrett, ,  68 

C.  Edmonds,    ...  73 

E.  J.  Whitney,     .    .  75 

(\  Edmonds,    ...  83 


VI 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


.Subjeet. 
BARBERINI    OR  PORTLAND  VASE,     .    .    . 

M 

Designer. 
B.,   

Cngraber. 
C.  Edmonds,    .    . 

PAGE 

87 

REVERSE  OF  PORTLAND  VASE,  

M 

B.,  

C.  Edmonds,    .    . 

91 

HADDON  HALL  AND  GARDEN  BY  MOON 
LIGHT,    

}M. 

B.,  

Lossing  &  Barrett, 

.     94 

THE  RUTLAND  CREST  AND  MOTTO,  .    .    . 

M. 

B.,   

Alex'r  Anderson, 
Lossing  &  Barrett, 

.  109 

MADONNA  AND  CHILD,    

M. 

B.,   AFTER  CORRKGGIO,  . 

E.  J.  Whitney,     . 

.  114 

THE  GRACES   ............    M.  B.,  AFTER  EAFFAELLE,.     Lossing  <£  Barrett,  .  116 

GROUP    OF   THE   VIRGIN,    SAINT   ANNE,  M  M.  B.,  AFTER  FRA  BAR-  }  „.,,.  r         11Q 
INFANT  JESUS,  AND  SAINT  JOHN,     .    .M     TOLOMEO  ......  f* 

PORTRAIT  OF  THOMAS  HOOD  ......    S.  WALLIX,  ......    Lossing  cfe  Barrett.  .  131 

PORTRAIT  OF  MRS.  COWDEN  CLARKE,     .    Miss  EMMA  NUVELLO,  .    .     Lossing  &  Barrett,  .  14S 
ORNAMENTAL  PAGES-SHAKESPEARIAN 


)  a 

j-S.  WALLIX,  ......     Lossing  <&  Barrett,  .  182 


^          _  JHcAartf™  <6  C«r,  .  149 

EMBLEMS,      .............  ) 

TESTIMONIAL  SHAKESPEARE  CHAIR,  .    .     M.  B.,  ........    Alex.  Anderson,  .    .  152 

SHAKESPEARIAN  EMBLEMS,   ......    M.  B.,  ........     Lossiny  &  Barrett,  .  153 

BELL'S  STATUETTE  OF  SHAKESPEARE,   .    S.  WALLIX,  ......    Lossing  &  Barrett,  .  154 

PORTRAIT     OF     T.     CROFTON     CHOKER,  )  TTT 

>W.  II.   BKOOKE,  M.R.I.A,    Lossing  &  Barrett,  .  156 
!•  .S.A.,       ...............  ) 

SHAKESPEARE'S  GIMMEL  RING,     .    .    .    .    M.  B.,  ........    Lossing  &  Barrett,  .  164 

THE     GIMMEL     OR     BETROTHAL     RING,) 
WITH  ANNE  HATH  AWAY'S   PORTRAIT,  }«.  WALLIX,  ......    Lo^ng  &  Barrett,  .  166 

SHAKESPEARE  EMBRACING  HIS  BRIDE,  .    M.  B.,  AFTER  FUSELI,   .    .     Richardson  &  Cox,  .  168 
GIMMEL  RING  SURROUNDED  BY  FAIRIES,    S.  WALLIX,  ......     Lossing  &  Barrett,  .  169 

PORTRAIT    OF    TIIOS.    STOTHARD,    ESQ., 

FOUR  BACCHANALIAN  SUBJECTS,  FROM) 
FRIEZES  AT  BUCKINGHAM  PALACE,     .  P1'  B-  ........    JHchardton  &  Cox,  .  183 

LETTER  W,  AND  CLIPPER  SHIP  OF  THE  I 

GRINNELL  LINE,     ..........  ^  M«  B  ..........  7^»^^,^,.190 

GROUP  OF  CHARITY,    .........    M.  B.,  AFTER  RAFFAELLE,.  Richardson  &  Cox,  .  191 

PORTRAIT  OF  HENRY  FUSELI,  ESQ.,  R.A.,    G.  II.  HARLOWE,  ....  Lossing  &  Barrett,  .  193 

ETRUSCAN  VASE,  ...........     M.  B.,  ........  Lossing  &  -Barrett,  .  212 

THE  VENUS  DE  MEDICIS—  THREE  VIEWS,    M.  B.,  ........  Lossing  &  Barrett,  .  221 

ROSE   MALCOLM   RESCUED   BY   HER  FA-  ) 

fW.  II.  BROOKE,  M.R.I.A.,     Lossing  &  Barrett,  .  228 
THJsiA,      ...............  i 

SIR  HULDBRAND  MEETING  THE  HERMIT  >  ^ 
IN  THE  WOOD  .......  j-W.  H.  BROOKE,  M.R.I.  A.,    Lossing  &  Barrett,  .  229 

SIR   HULDBRAND   BESET    BY   SPECTRES) 

IN  THE  ENCHANTED  FOREST,     .     .     .     .  f  M.  B.,  AFTKK  P  USELI,  .    .     ^hard*on&  Cov,  .  231 

SIR    HULDBRAND     CARRYING     UNDINE  i 
OVER  THE  TORRENT,     ........  }W.  H.  BROOKE,  M.R.I.A,    lowing  &  Barrett,  .  233 


ILLUSTKATIONS.  y:j 

•Subject.                                                 Bttigner.  ISnjjrabcr.       PAGE 
WREATH    OF    FLOWEE9,    ORNAMENTAL) 

BORDERS, [M.  B., Bobbett  &  Edmonds,  235 

SHIP  UNDER  SAIL, M.  B, Richardson  &  Cox,  .  239 

DITTO, M.  B., Richardson*:  Cox, .  240 

BOY  AND  DOG, M.  B.,  AFTER  RAFF AELLE,  .  Richardson  &  Cox, .  243 

SHIP  IN  PORT  AT  ANCHOR M.  B, Lowing  <&  Barrett, .  246 

BACCHANTE, M.  B.,  AFTER  BAETOLINI,  .  Alex.  Anderson, .    .  248 

BOYS  CLIMBING  CHERRY  TREE,    .    .    .    .     W.  H.  BROOKE,  M.R.I.A,  C.  Edmonds,   .    .    .249 

CHILD  REPEATING  EVENING  PRAYER,  .    J.  LEECII, 250 

THE  HIGHLAND  REEL, M.  B., Louring  &  Barrett, .  253 

THE  HIGHLAND  LASSIE,            M.  B.,  AFTER  WESTALL,    .  Lossinq  &  Barrett, .  254 

THE  SALMON, R  W.  FAIRUOLI       .    .    .  J.  Jackson, ....  256 

CUPID,  IN  WREATH, M.  B.,  AFTER  STOTHARD,  .  C.Edmonds,   .    .    .261 

INITIAL  LETTER,  GIRL  AND  FAWN,     .    .    M.  B., Alex.  Anderson, .    .262 

THE  TALBOT  HOUND, M.  B C.  Edmonds,   ...  265 

MASK   OF    SHAKESPEARE,  TAKEN  FROM  i 

HIS  BUST  IN  STRATFORD  CHURCH,   .    .  j  M-  B"> Lasting  &  Barrett, .  266 

GROUP  OF  TREES  IN  THE  GREENWOOD  ) 

CEMETERY, fM.  B., Losing  &  Barrett, .  267 

COMMUNION  CUP-EMBLEM  OF  FAITH,       M.  B., Alex.  Anderson,.    .270 

SORROW-A  FEMALE  PORTRAIT M.  B, Bobbett  &  Edmonds,  271 

EMBLEM  OF  ETERNITY, M.  B., Lossing  &  Barrett, .  M 

HERALDIC  SHIELD,  IN  WREATH,  .    .    .    .     M.  B, Lotting  &  Barrett, .  286 

WREATH  OF  OAK  LEAVES M.  B., Lossing  &  Barrett, .  300 

The  whole  of  the  Initial  Letters  drawn  by  the  Authoress  and  engraved  by  Alex.  Anderson. 


CONTEXTS. 


PAGE 

DREAM  OF  HOME, 3 

MARY  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS, 5 

THE   CELEBRATED  LETTER  OF  MARY,  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS,   TO 

QUEEN  ELIZABETH,  WITH  TRANSLATION, 10 

POEMS  ILLUSTRATIVE  OF  STRIKING  SCENES  IN  THE  LIFE  OF 

MARY,  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS, 21 

HER  CORONATION  AT  NOTRE  DAME, 22 

THE  BURIAL  OF  FRANCIS  II.  AT  ST.  DENIS, 26 

BANQUET  AT  HOLYROOD, 32 

CHASTELLAR, 35 

THE  LADY  OF  MUNRO, 37 

LETTER  OF  NICHOLAS  WHITE  TO  SIR  WILLIAM  CECILL, 4G 

QUEEN  MARY'S  REVERIE, 52 

QUEEN  OF  SCOTS'  LETTER  TO  HER  ADOPTED  DAUGHTER,  BESS  PIERREPONT, 54 

BESS    PlERREPONT,    HER   SONG, _  55    $Q 

INCIDENTS  AND  CHARACTERISTIC  TRAITS  OF  QUEEN  ELIZABETH  AND  HER  COURTIERS,       62 

EXTRACTS  FROM  QUEEN  ELIZABETH'S  PRAYER  BOOK, 67-71 

ANECDOTE  OF  QUEEN  ELIZABETH  AND  ONE  OF  THE  COURT  PAINTERS, 72 

DESCRIPTION  OF  THE  BROAD-PIECE  OF  QUEEN  ELIZABETH, 73 

DESCRIPTION  OF  THE  CELEBRATED  ESSEX  RING, 75,  76 

LETTERS  FROM  ESSEX  TO  THE  QUEEN, ..7778 

LETTER  FROM  SIR  WALTER  RALEIGH  TO  SIR  WILLIAM  CECILL, 78  79 


x  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

LETTER  FROM  SIR  PHILIP  SYDNEY  TO  THE  QUEEN, 80 

THE  EARL  OF  OXFORD, 81,  82 

CURIOUS  EXTRACT  RELATIVE  TO  LEICESTER,  FROM  ONE  OF  QUEEN  MARY'S  LETTERS 

TO  HER  UNCLE,  THE  CARDINAL  OF  LORRAINE, 82 

SIR  CHRISTOPHER  HATTON, 83 

THE    CELEBRATED    COUNTESS   OF   SHREWSBURY, 85 

DESCRIPTION  OF  THE  BARBERINI  OR  PORTLAND  VASE, 87 

ACCOUNT  OF  HADDON  HALL,  IN  DERBYSHIRE, 94 

POEM  ON  THE  SAME, 104 

EVENINGS  AT  THE  HOUSE  OF  SIR  THOMAS  LAWRENCE,  WITH  FAC  SIMILE  AUTOGRAPH 

LETTER,  Ill 

LAMB  AND  HOOD,  WITH  FAC  SIMILE  AUTOGRAPH  LETTERS  OF  EACH,  AND  POEM  BY 

HOOD, i;u 

CHARACTERISTIC  LETTER  FROM  HOOD  TO  SIR  T.  LAWRENCE, 146 

LINES  TO  MRS.  COWDEN  CLARKE,  WHO  SPENT  TWELVE  YEARS  IN  COMPILING  HER 

CONCORDANCE  TO  SHAKESPEARE, 149 

DESCRIPTION  OF  THE  TESTIMONIAL  CHAIR  SENT  TO  HER  FROM  AMERICA, 152 

BELL'S  STATUETTE  OF  SHAKESPEARE, 154 

THOMAS  CROFTON  CROKER,  ESQ.,  AUTHOR  OF  FAIRY  LEGENDS,  &c., 156 

LINES  TO  THE  SAME,  ON  RECEIVING  AN  ACCOUNT  OF  SHAKESPEARE'S  BETROTHING 

OR  GIMMEL  RING, 106 

THE  LAST  LETTER  WRITTEN  BY  CHOKER, 170 

MEMOIR  OF  MRS.  RENWICK,  OF  NEW  YORK,  WITH  BURNS'  POEMS  ADDRESSED  TO 

HER, 172 

THOMAS  STOTHARD,  ESQ.,  R. A., 1 82 

POETIC  ADDRESS  TO  HENRY  GRINNELL,  ESQ.,   190 

REMINISCENCES  OF  HENRY  FUSELI,  ESQ.,  R.  A., 1 93 

DESCRIPTION  OF  A  CELEBRATED  ETRUSCAN  YASE, 212 

SIR  HENRY  ENGLEFIELD'S  LETTER  TO  FUSELI  ON  THE  MANNER  OF  THE  PRODUCTION 

OF  ETRUSCAN  YASES, 214 

ODE  TO  CLEOMENES,  THE  ATHENIAN  SCULPTOR.    221 

ANECDOTES  OF  COSMO  III.,  GRAND  DUKE  OF  TUSCANY,  LORD  OSSORY,  Ac.,  RELA 
TIVE  TO  THE  VENUS  DE  MEDICIS, 22:5 

ROSE  MALCOLM, , 226 

UNDINE, 229 

MARCH  OP  THE  CLANS. 234 

INVOCATION  TO  A  WREATH  OF  TRANSATLANTIC  FLOWERS,  .  236 


CONTENTS.  Xi 

PAGE 

IlOMANCE  OF  THE  SEA — A  DESCRIPTIVE  CANTATA,  CONTAINING : 

THE  ADIEU, 239 

THE  BARCAROLLE, 240 

THE  EXILE'S  DREAM, 242 

THE  GALE, 245 

THE  ARRIVAL  IN  PORT, 246 

ADORA, 248 

CHERRY  TREE, 249 

CHILD'S  EVENING  PRAYER, 251 

THE  HIGHLAND  REEL, 253 

SOXG  OF  THE  SALMON, 256 

SCOTLAND, <  259 

THE  VOICE  WE  LOVE, 260 

To  A  FRIEND,  ON  HIS  MARRIAGE, 261 

MAY  TALBOT, 262 

To  THE  MEMORY  OF  MRS.  LUTHER  B.  WYMAN, 267 

A  MOTHER  s  GRIEF, 269 

SORROW, 271 

THE  SOLDIER'S  GRAVE, 278 

LEGEND  OF  AN  OLD  SCOTTISH  CASTLE, 274 


PEN    AND    PENCIL 


A    DREAM    OF    HOME. 

IT  Mother!  sacred!  dear!  in  dreams  of  thee, 

I  sate,  again  a  child  beside  thy  knee ; 

Nestling  amid  thy  robe  delightedly. 

And  all  was  silent  in  the  sunny  room 

Save  bees  that  hummed  o'er  honeysuckle  bloom. 

I  gazed  upon  thy  face,  so  mild — so  fair — 

I  heard  thy  holy  voice  arise  in  prayer; 

Oh  Mother!  Mother!  them  thyself  wert  thcix  ! 

Thou,  by  the  placid  brow,  the  thoughtful  eye, 

The  clasping  hand,' the  voice  of  melody. 

I  clung  around  thy  neck,  the  tears  fell  fast- 
Like  rain  in  summer,  yet,  the  sorrow  passed— 

And  smiles  more  beautiful  than  e'en  the  last 
Played  on  thy  lip,  dear  Mother '.such  it  wore 

To  bless  our  happy  home  in  days  of  yore. 


A.    DKEAM    OF    HOME. 


Then,  wild  and  grand  arose  my  native  hills : 
1  heard  the  rush  of  torrents,  and  the  trills 

Of  birds  that  hymn  the  sun  ;  the  charm  that  fills 
Old  Iladdon's  vales,  and  haunts  its  river  side 

"What  time  the  fays  pluek  king-cups  by  its  tide. 


Mcth ought  'twas  hawthorn  time — the  blooming  May- 
For  o'er  far  plains  bright  figures  seemed  to  stray 

Gathering  the  buds,  and  calling  me  away. 
I  waked — but  ah  !  to  weep,  no  eye  of  thine, 

Sweet  Mother!  shed  its  gentle  light  on  mine. 


MARY    QUEEN    OF    SCOTS. 


'  *  ^  0  historical  personage  lias  ever  possess- 
cd  for  mankind  a  more  powerful  charm, 
or  inspired  a  more  widely  diffused  or 
enduring  interest,  than  Mary  Stuart, 
the  lovely  and  unfortunate  Queen  of 
Scots.  Freshly  remembered  now,  as 
when  the  tidings  of  her  fate  sent  an  in 
dignant  thrill  through  every  heart  in 
Europe,  the  mind  receives  again  and 


G 


MAUY    QUKKX    OF    SCOTS. 


again  with  new  pleasure  the  oft-told  talc  of  her  unspeakable 
beauty,  exquisite  grace,  and  manifold  accomplishments,  gleans 
whatever  is  to  be  learned  of  her  from  history  or  portrait,  and, 
embellishing  the  whole  by  imagination,  cherishes  the  remembrance 
as  a  combination  of  all  that  is  delightful  in  woman.  There 
is  no  incident,  however  trifling,  which,  connected  with  her,  does 
not  become  valuable;  her  prisons  have  become  shrines:  their 
mouldering  walls  and  traditionary  trees  objects  of  undying  interest; 
even  their  weeds  and  wild-flowers  precious  relics,  as  having  been 
gathered  in  spots  associated  with  her  name,  and  from  it  deriving  a 
charm  which  time  rather  increases  than  lessens,  since  every  fresh 
circumstance  which  comes  t  >  light  regarding  her  eventful  life,  serves 
but  more  clearly  to  establish  her  innocence,  and  to  bring  out  her 
character  in  bright  and  strong  relief  against  that  of  her  stern  and 
uncompromising  rival,  Queen  Elizabeth,  whose  greatness  as  a  sove 
reign  renders  not  the  less  revolting  that  littleness  of  mind,  and  un 
faltering  cruelty  of  heart,  which  were  her  chief  characteristics  as  a 
woman.  The  history  of  these  two  Queens  is  so  closely  interwoven, 
that  the  mention  of  the  one  necessarily  involves  that  of  the  other, 
and  brings  before  us,  though  in  perpetual  antagonism,  these  cele 
brated  representatives  of  the  lines  of  Tudor  and  of  Stuart. 

A  few  notices  of  themselves,  and  of  others  whose  names  in  con 
nexion  with  theirs  have  become  famous,  may,  it  is  presumed,  not  be 
without  interest  to  those  who  delight  in  glimpses  of  feudal  times  and 
ancient  manners,  the  wdiole  being  extracted  from  authentic  sources, 
waifs  and  strays,  at  once  suggestive  and  illustrative  of  England's  most 
chivalrous  and  romantic  era. 

In  the  library  of  the  Earl  of  Salisbury  at  Ilatfield  House,  Hert 
fordshire,  amongst  the  Cecil  MSS.,  is  preserved  an  original  letter 
from  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  to  Queen  Elizabeth.  This  letter  is  one 
of  the  most  curious  and  interesting  documents  in  existence  :  written 
as  it  is,  by  one  of  the  most  .celebrated  Queens  the  world  ever  p^o- 
duced,  to  another  Queen  equally  famous,  who,  at  the  time  it  was 
written,  held  the  sword  suspended,  as  it  were,  by  a  single  hair,  over 
the  head  of  the  writer:  taking  also  into  consideration,  the  import- 


MAi:V    ijrEliN    OF    SCOTS. 

ance  of  the  subjects  on  which  it  treats,  the  high  rank  of  the  person 
ages  concerned,  and  above  all,  the  manner  in  which  the  various  cir 
cumstances,  scenes,  and  characters  are  displayed  as  in  a  comedy,  and 
as  if  merely  for  the  amusement  of  Elizabeth  herself. 

This  letter,  written  by  the  Queen  of  Scots  to  Queen  Elizabeth,  at 
the  particular  request  of  the  latter,  appears  to  have  been  written  by 
Mary  in  one  of  those  moments  of  impetuosity  which  were  so  often 
fatal  to  her  interests  :  when  weary  of  her  long  protracted  imprison 
ment,  and  hopeless  of  ever  regaining  her  liberty,  she  determined 
to  fulfil  a  promise,  which,  made  long  before,  she  had  hitherto  felt  re 
luctant  to  perform,  and  to  make  Elizabeth  acquainted  with  the  facts 
which  had  come  to  her  knowledge  through  the  indiscretion  of  the 
Counters  of  Shrewsbury — facts,  which  as  they  so  little  redounded  to 
the  credit  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  would,  Mary  well  knew,  be  likely  to 
excite  in  her  the  utmost  rage  and  fury,  thus  serving  as  weapons  of 
reprisal,  for  the  innumerable  and  intolerable  insults  and  wrongs  that 
had  for  a  long  series  of  years  accumulated  upon  her  own  defence 
less  head. 

She  was  the  more  impelled  to  this  from  the  Countess  having  about 
that  time — -the  latter  end  of  the  year  1584 — revived  anew  some  gross 

i/  o 

slanders  which  she  had  previously  circulated,  regarding  the  Earl  her 
husband  and  his  unfortunate  prisoner.  These  imputations,  which 
proceeded  solely  from  the  envy  and  jealousy  which  the  Countess  had 
conceived  in  consequence  of  the  rare  beauty  and  accomplishments 
of  the  royal  captive,  so  exasperated  the  Earl,  that  although  one  of 
the  most  subjugated  of  husbands,  he  was  for  once  completely  roused, 
insisting,  as  an  act  of  justice  both  to  himself  and  the  Queen  of  Scots, 
that  the  matter  should  be  thoroughly  investigated  before  the  Privy 
Council. 

The  accusers,  consisting  of  the  Countess  and  her  two  sons  by  Sir 
William  Cavendish  her  former  husband,  were  accordingly  summoned 
before  it,  and  after  a  most  rigid  examination,  were  under  the  neces 
sity  of  acknowledging  upon  oath  that  the  whole  affair  was  "'  malicious, 
false  and  scandalous,  wrongfully  urged  against  the  said  Queen  and 
Earl,  and  without  the  slightest  foundation."  That  the  Queen  of 


g  MAEY    QUEEN    OF    SCOTS. 

i 

Scots  was  most  anxious  to  bring  to  light  the  machinations  of  her  in 
famous  traducers,  the  following  instructions  to  her  ambassadors  will 
testify.  In  158tt,  writing  to  the  Master  of  Gray,  she  says,  u  Farther, 
that  in  consideration  of  the  scandalous  reports  which  are  current  as 
between  me  and  the  said  Earl,  I  cannot  be  removed  from  him  with 
out  having  my  name  handed  about  amongst  the  more  malicious,  who 
will  certainly  make  use  of  it,  and  the  less  informed  who  will  fancy 
that  some  evil  and  improper  conversation  has  taken  place  between 
ns,  and  for  which  we  have  been  separated ;  so  that  at  the  utmost, 
they  cannot  deny  me  that  before  being  removed  from  the  custody 
of  the  said  Earl,  I  shall  be  completely  cleared  and  sufficiently  exo 
nerated  from  the  said  reports,  as  I  have  constantly  and  very  importu 
nately  required  this  whole  year,  and  this  day  week  by  an  express 
dispatch  to  the  said  Queen  by  the  French  Ambassador,  naming  the 
Countess  of  Shrewsbury  and  her  two  sons  Charles  and  "William  Ca 
vendish  as  the  inventors  and  disseminators  of  this  report,  upon  whom 
you  will  demand  justice." 

In  a  letter  from  her  dolorous  prison  of  Chartley,  31st  May,  1586, 
she  thus  writes  to  her  ambassador  Chateauneuf,  concerning  a  mes 
sage  she  had  received  from  the  Countess.  "  And,  therefore,  I  am  of 
opinion,  that  if  they  urge  farther  upon  you  this  reconciliation,  you 
will  reply  that  such  great  and  serious  causes  of  enmity  have  passed 
between  the  said  Countess  and  me,  you  would  not  undertake  to  speak 
to  me  of  reconciliation  without  a  very  solid  and  very  express  assur 
ance  of  proof  of  the  repentance  of  the  said  Countess  ;  whereupon 
you  will  desire  her  to  enter  into  particulars,  and  will  endeavor  to 
learii  from  her  as  far  as  you  can,  promising  to  her  only  to  give  me 
information  of  all,  by  the  first  conveyance  which  you  can  recover, 
and  from  yourself  exert  yourself  as  far  as  you  can,  to  effect  this  recon 
ciliation.  But  before-hand,  I  do  not  wish  to  conceal  from  you  my 
resolution  that  her  extreme  ingratitude,  and  the  terms  in  which  she 
has  acted  against  me,  do  not  permit  me,  with  my  honor  (which  I  hold 
dearer  than  all  the  greatness  in  this  world),  to  have  ever  any  thing  to 
do  with  so  wicked  a  woman." — Contemporary  copy,  Slate  Paper  Office, 
London,  M.  Q.  Scots,  Vol.  xvii. 


MARY    QUEEN    OF    SCOTS.  g 

On  the  same  subject,  Mary  thus  writes  to  the  Archbishop  of 
Glasgow  : — 

"  CIIARTLKY,  May  18,  1586. 

"You  will  perceive  also  by  this  negotiation  for  my  liberty,  which 
has  been  done  to  protract  my  going  out  of  the  hands  of  the  Earl 
of  Shrewsbury,  awaiting  the  proof  which  he  might  have  against  his 
wicked  wife ;  whom  at  length  Nau  made  to  contradict  in  the  presence 
of  the  said  Queen  and  her  council,  all  the  reports  which  she  had 
falsely  propagated  against  my  honour,  and  who  is  now-a-davs  reduced 
to  this  pass  to  court  me,  confess  her  fault  and  ingratitude,  and  beg 
pardon  for  it.  He  likewise  obtained  a  prohibition  of  Buchanan's 
history." — Labanoff,  (Contemporary  decipher,  State  Paper  Office, 
London,  M.  Q.  Scots,  Yol.  xvii.) 

From  the  tenor  of  these  communications  it  may  readily  be  ima 
gined  that  parties  holding  towards  each  other  the  relative  positions 
of  these  royal  and  noble  personages,  were  not  careful  to  exercise 
much  Christian  forbearance  when  an  opportunity  offered  for  exposing 
any  weakness  or  enormity,  which  in  the  eye  of  the  world  might 
lessen  their  opponents  in  its  estimation ;  and  the  Queen  of  Scots, 
situated  as  she  was,  must  have  possessed  almost  more  magnanimity 
than  human  nature  is  capable  of  to  avoid  aiming  a  blow,  however 
futile,  whenever  a  weak  place  was  discoverable  in  the  armor  of  foes, 
who  in  their  conduct  to  her  had  no  scruples,  but  remorselessly  violated 
every  observance  of  decency  and  dignity :  nor,  whilst  remembering 
her  sex  and  the  personal  affronts  she  was  compelled  to  endure,  can 
she  be  severely  censured  if,  with  even  somewhat  of  a  malicious  zest, 
she  undertook  to  hold  up  the  mirror  of  Truth  before  the  eyes  of  the 
vain  and  haughty  Elizabeth,  with  a  keen  appreciation,  doubtless,  of 
the  emotions  likely  to  be  experienced  by  one  so  little  accustomed  to 
behold  herself  through  so  unflattering  a  medium. 

The  celebrated  Letter  alluded  to,  which,  in  the  original,  is  written 
in  old  French,  is  here  presented  to  the  reader,  with  a  literal  transla 
tion.  A  part  of  it  may  be  found  in  Lingard ;  but  it  has  never  before 
been  given  entire  in  English. 

2 


LETTER 


FROM   MAEY   QUEEN    OF   SCOTS   TO   QUEEN   ELIZABETH. 

UIY  ANT  ce  que  je  Yous  ay  pro  mis  et  auvez 
despuis  desire,  je  Yous  declare  ores,  qu' 
avequesregretz,que  telles  clioses  soyent  am- 
menees  en  question,  mays  tres  sincerement  et 
sans  auquiie  passion,  don  tj'apelle  nion  Dieu 
a  tesmoing,  que  la  Cornptesse  de  Schreusbury 
madit  de  Yous  ce  qui  suit  au  plus  pres  de 
cesTermes.  A  la  plus  part  de  quoy  je  pro- 
teste  avoir  respondu,  reprenant  la  ditte  dame 
de  croire  ou  parler  si  lisientieusement  de 
Yous,  comme  chose  que  je  ne  croyois  point, 
ni  croya  present  congnoissant  leNaturel  de  la  Comptesse  et  de  quel 
esprit  elle  estoit  alors  poulssee  centre  Yous.  Preniierement,  qu'un, 
auquel  elle  disoit  que  Yous  aviez  faict  promesse  de  mariage  devant 
uneDame  de  vostre  chambre,avoitcousche  infinies  foys  au  vesques  Yous 
avectoute  la  licence  et  privaulte  qui  se  pent  user  entreMari  et  famine ; 
Mays  qu'  indubitablement  Yous  nestiez  pas  comme  les  aultres 
famines,  et  pour  ce  respect  cestoit  follie  a  touz  ceulx  que  affectoient 
vostre  Mariage  avec  Monsieur  le  Due  KAnjou,  d'aultant  qu'il  ne  ce 
pourroit  accomplir ;  et  que  Yous  ne  vouldriez  jamays  perdu  la 
liberte  de  Vous  fay  re  fay  re  Tamour,  et  auvoir  vostre  plesir  tousjours 
auveques  nouveaulx  amoureulx,  regretant  ce,  disoit-elle,  que  1'ous  ne 
vous  contentiez  de  Maister  Ilaton,  et  un  aultre  de  ce  Eoyaulme  ; 
mais  que  pour  1'honneur  du  pays  il  luy  fasclioit  le  plus,  que  vous 
aviez  non  seullement  engasge  Yostre  honneur  auveques  un  estran- 
gier  Nomine  Simier,  1'  a  lant  trouver  de  nuit  en  la  cliambre  d'une 


LETTEK    FKOM    MAKY    TO    ELIZABETH. 


dame,  que  la  dicte  Gomtesse  blasmoit  fort  a  ceste  occasion  la,  ou  Yous 
le  baisiez,  et  usiez  auvec  luy  de  diverges  privaultes  deshoimestes  ; 
mays  aussi  lay  revelliez  les  segretz  du  Eoyaulme,  trahisant  vos 
propres  conseillers  avvesques  luy  :  Que  Yous  vous  estiez  desportee 
de  la  mesine  dissolution  avec  le  Due  son  Maystre,  qui  vous  avoit 
este  trouver  une  nuit  a  la  porte  de  vostre  chambre,  ou  vous  laviez 
rancontre  auvec  vostre  seulle  chemise  et  manteau  de  nuit,  et  que  par 
apres  vous  laviez  laisse  entrer,  et  qu'il  demeura  avveques  Yous  pres 
de  troys  lieures.  Quant  au  diet  Ilaton,  que  vous  le  couriez  a  force 
faysant  si  publiquement  paroitre  1'amonr  que  luy  portiez  que  luy 
mesmes  estoit  contreint  de  s'en  retirer,  et  que  Yous  donnastes  un 
soumet  a  Kiligreu  pour  ne  vous  avoir  ramene  le  diet  Ilaton,  que 
Yous  avviez  envoiay  rappeller  par  luy,  s'estant  desparti  en  chollere 
d'auveques  vous  pour  quelques  injures  que  luy  auviez  dittes  pour 
certeins  boutons  d'or  qu'l  auvoit  sur  son  habit.  Qu'elle  auvoit  tra- 
vaille  de  fayre  espouser  au  dit  Ilaton  la  feu  Comtesse  de  Lenox  sa 
iille,  mays  que  de  creinte  de  Yous,  il  ne  osoit  entendre  ;  que  mesme 
le  Comte  cTOxfort  nosoit  ce  rappointer  auveques  sa  famine  de  peur 
de  perdre  la  faveur  qu'il  esperoit  recepvoir  par  vous  fayre  Famour  : 
Que  vous  estiez  prodigue  envers  toutes  telles  gens  et  ceulx  qui  ce 
mesloient  de  telles  mesnees,  comme  a  un  de  Yostre  Chambre  Gorge, 
auquel  Yous  avviez  donne  troys  centz  ponds  de  rante  pour  vous 
avvoir  apporte  les  nouvelles  du  retour  de  Ilaton  :  Qu'a  toutz  aultres 
Yous  estiez  fort  ingrate  chische,  et  qu'il  ni  avoit  que  troys  ou  quatre 
en  vostre  Royaulme  a  qui  Yous  ayez  jamays  faict  bien  :  Me  con- 
seillant,  en  riant  extresmement,  mettre  mon  filz  sur  les  rancs  pour  vous 
fayre  1'amours,  comme  chose  qui  me  serviroit  grandement  et  metroit 
Monsieur  le  Due  hors  de  quartier;  qui  me  seroit  tres  prejudisiable 
si  il  i  continuoit  ;  et  lui  repliquant,  que  cela  seroit  pris  pour  une  vraye 
moquerie  elle  me  respondit  que  Yous  estiez  si  vayne  et  en  si  bonne 
opinion  de  vostre  beaute,  comme  si  vous  estiez  quelque  deesse  du  ciel  ; 
qu'elle  prandroit  sur  la  teste  de  le  vous  fayre  croire  facillement  et  entre- 
tiendroit  mon  filz  en  ceste  humour  :  Que  Yous  preniez  si  grand  plesir 
en  flateries  hors  de  toute  rayson,  que  1'on  vous  disoit,  comme  de  dire, 
qu'on  ne  vous  osoit  par  foys  reguarder  a  plain,  d'aultant  que  Yostre 


]9  LETTER    FROM    MAUY    TO    ELIZABETH. 

face  luysoit  comme  le  Soleill :  Qu'elle  et  toutes  les  aultres  Dames 
de  la  Court  estoints  contrcintes  d'en  user,  et  qu'en  son  dernier 
voyage  vers  Yous,  Elle  et  la  feu  Comtesse  de  Lenox  parlant  a  Yous 
n'osoient  s'entreregarder  1'une  et  1'autre  de  peur  de  s'eclater  de  rire 
des  cassades  qiielle  voiis  donnoint,  me  priant  a  son  retour  de  tancer 
sa  fille  quelle  n'avoyt  jamays  seen  persuader  de  fayre  le  mesme  ;  et 
quant  a  sa  fille  Talhot,  elle  s'assuroit  qu'elle  ne  fauldroit  jamays  de 
YOUS  rire  an  nez ;  la  dicte  dame  Talbot  lors  quelle  vons  alia  fayre  la 
reverance  et  donne  le  serment  comme  Tune  de  voz  servantes,  a  son 
retour  imediatement,  me  le  comtant  comme  nne  chose  fayte  en 
moquerie,  me  pria  de  1'accepter  pareill,  mays  plus  ressent  et  entier 
vers  moy,  du  quel  je  feiz  long  terns  refus ;  mays  a  la  fin  a  force  de 
larmes  je  lalaissay  faire,  disant  quelle  ne  vouldroit  pour  chose  du  monde 
estre  en  vostre  service  pres  de  vostre  personne,  d'autant  quelle  auroit 
penr  qne  quand  seriez  en  cholere  ne  luy  fissies  comme  a  sa  cousine 
Skedmur^  a  qui  vous  auviez  rompu  un  doibt,  faciant  a  croire  a  ceulx 
de  la  court,  que  cestoit  un  chandelier  qui  estoit  tombe  dessubz  ; 
et  qu'a  une  aultre  vos  servant  a  talle  auviez  donne  nn  grand  coup 
de  coustean  snr  la  mayn  ;  Et  en  un  mot,  pour  ces  derniers  pointz  et 
communs  petitz  raportz,  Croyez  que  vous  estiez  jouee  et  contrefaicte 
par  elles  comme  en  commedie  entre  mes  fammes  mesmes ;  ce  qu' 
apercevant,  je  vous  jure  que  je  deffendis  a  mes  fammes  ne  ce  plus 
mesler.  Davantasge,  la  dicte  Comtesse  ma  autrefoys  advertie  qne 
Yous  voulliez  appointer  Itolson  pour  me  fayre  1'amour  et  essayer  de 
me  deshonorer,  soyt  en  effect  on  par  mauvais  bruit,  de  quoy  il  avoyt 
instructions  de  vostre  bousche  propre  :  Que  Ruxby  veint  ici,  il  i  a 
environ  viii  ans,  pour  atempter  a  ma  vie,  ay  ant  parle  a  vous  mesmes, 
qni  luy  auviez  dit  quil  fit  ce  a  que  WdUingham  luy  commenderoit 
et  dirigeroit.  Quant  la  dicte  Comtesse  ponrsuivoit  le  mariage  de  son 
filz  Charles  auveques  nne  des  niepeces  du  Milord  Paget,  et  que 
daultre  part  Yous  voulliez  lavoir  par  pure  et  absolue  aucthorite  pour 
nn  des  Knoles,  pour  ce  quil  estoit  vostre  parent ;  elle  crioit  fort 
contre  vous,  et  disoit  que  cestoit  nne  vraye  tirannie,  voulant  a  vostre 
fantasie  enlever  tontes  les  heritieres  du  pays,  et  qne  vons  avicz  in- 
dignement  nse  le  dit  Paget  par  parolles  injurieuses,  mays  qu'enfin 


LETTEU    FHOM    MAKY    TO    ELIZABETH.  }3 

la  Noblesse  de  ce  Royaume  nc  le  vous  soufrisoit  pas  mesmement,  si 
vous  adressiez  a  telz  aultres  quelle  connoissoit  bien.  II  y  a  environ 
quatre  on  sing  ans  que  Vous  cstant  malade  ct  moy  ansi  an  mesme 
temps,  elle  me  dit  que  vostre  Mai  provenoit  dc  la  elosture  d'une  fistulle 
que  vous  aviez  dans  une  jambe  ;  et  que  sans  double  vcnant  a  perdre 
voz  moys,  Vous  mourriez  bien  tost,  s'eu  resjouissant  sur  une  vayne 
imagination  quelle  a  eue  de  long  temps  par  les  predictions  d'un 
uomme  Jon  Lenton,  et  d'un  vieulx  liuvre  qui  prediroit  vostre  mort 
par  violence  et  la  succession  d'une  aultre  Royne,  quelle  interpretoit 
estre  moy,  regretant  seullement  que  par  le  dit  liuvre  il  estoit  predit 
que  la  Royne  qui  vous  deubroit  succeder  ne  regneroit  que  trois  ans, 
et  mouroit  comme  vous  par  violance,  ce  qui  estoit  represente  mesme 
en  peinture  dans  le  dit  liuvre,  anquel  il  y  avoyt  nn  dernier  feuillet, 
le  contenu  duquel  elle  ne  ma  jamais  voulu  dire.  Elle  scait  elle  niesme 
que  jay  tousjours  pris  cela  pour  line  pure  follie,  mays  elle  fesoit 
bien  son  compte  destre  la  premiere  aupres  de  moy,  et  mesmement 
que  mon  nlz  epouseroit  ma  niepce  Arbela.  Pour  la  fin  je  vous  jure 
encores  un  coup  sur  ma  foy  et  honneur  que  ce  que  desubz  est  tres 
veritable  ;  et  que  de  ce  qui  conserne  vostre  honneur,  il  ne  mest 
jamays  tombe  en  Fentendement  de  vous  fayre  tort  par  le  reveller  ; 
et  qu'il  ne  ce  scaura  jamays  par  moy,  le  tenant  pour  tres  faulx.  Si 
je  puis  avoir  cest  lieur  de  parler  a  vous,  je  vous  diray  plus  particu- 
lierement  les  noms,  terns,  lieux  et  aultres  sirconstances  pour  vous 
fayre  congnoistre  la  verite  et  de  cessi  et  d'aultres  choses  que  je  reserve, 
quant  je  seray  tout  a  fayct  asseurce  de  vostre  amitie,  laquelle  com 
me  je  desire  plus  que  jamays,  aussi  si  je  la  puis  ceste  foys  obtenir, 
vous  neustes  jamays  parente,  amy,  nymcsmes  subject,  plus  fidelle  et 
affectionnee  que  je  vous  seray.  Pour  Dieu  asseurez  Vous  de  celle 
qui  vous  veult  et  peult  Servir.  De  mon  lit  forcant  moil  bras  et  mes 
douleurs  pour  vous  satisfayre  et  obeir. 

MARIE  R. 


TRANSLATION. 


CCORDIXG  to  what  I  have  promised  you, 
and  have  since  wished,  I  now  declare  to 
yon,  although  with  regret,  that  such  things 
should  have  been  called  in  question,  but 
very  sincerely,  and  without  any  passion, 
of  which  I  call  God  to  witness,  that 
the  Countess  of  Shrewsbury  told  me  of 
you  what  follows,  or  in  very  nearly  these 
terms.  To  the  most  part  of  which  I 
protest  to  have  answered,  reproving  the 
said  Lady  for  believing  or  speaking  so 

licentiously  of  you,  as  a  thing  that  I  could  not  believe,  nor  do  I 
believe  now,  knowing  the  disposition  of  the  Countess,  and  by  what 
spirit  she  was  then  actuated  against  you.  Firstly,  that  one,  to 
whom  she  said  that  you  had  made  a  promise  of  marriage,  before 
a  lady  of  your  chamber,  had  an  infinite  number  of  times  re 
ceived  from  you  all  the  familiarities  and  endearments  used  between 
husband  and  wife,  but  that  undoubtedly  you  were  not  like  other 
women,  and  on  that  account  it  was  folly  in  those  who  wished  to 
bring  about  your  marriage  with  the  Duke  of  Anjou,  inasmuch  as  it 
could  not  be  consummated;  and  that  you  never  would  deprive  your 
self  of  the  liberty  of  having  love  made  to  you,  and  of  continually 
taking  your  pleasure  with  new  lovers;  regretting,  she  said,  that  you 
wrere  not  content  with  Master  Ilatton  and  another  of  this  kingdom, 
but  that  what  troubled  her  most,  for  the  honor  of  the  country,  was,  that 
you  had  not  only  forfeited  your  honor  with  a  foreigner  named  Simier, 
who  was  found  in  the  chamber  at  night  by  a  lady  ;  the  said  countess 
being  very  angry  on  this  occasion,  wherein  you  kissed  him,  and 


LETTER    FROM    MARY    TO    ELIZABETH. 


15 


used  towards  liiin  divers  unseemly  endearments,  but  also  exposed  to 
him  the  secrets  of  state,  betraying  your  privy  councillors  to  him. 
That  you  conducted  yourself  with  the  same  dissoluteness  to  the 
Duke,  his  master,  who  had  been  found  one  night  at  the  door  of  your 
chamber,  where  you  had  met  him  in  only  your  night  apparel,  and 
that  afterwards,  you  permitted  him  to  enter,  and  that  he  remained 
with  you  nearly  three  hours.  That  for  the  afore-mentioned  JIatton 
your  passion  was  so  violent,  and  you  made  so  public  a  display  of  the 
love  you  bore  him,  that  he  was  obliged  to  absent  himself;  and  that 
you  gave  Killigrew  a  box  on  the  ear  for  not  having  brought  back  to 
you  the  said  Hatton,  whom  you  had  sent  Killigrew  to  recal ;  he 
having  gone  away  in  anger  with  you,  for  some  insulting  words  you  had 
spoken  about  certain  gold  buttons,  that  he  had  upon  his  coat.  That 
she  had  endeavored  to  bring  about  a  marriage  between  the  said 
Hatton,  and  the  late  Countess  of  Lennox  her  daughter,  but  that  for 
fear  of  you,  he  dared  not  listen  to  it.  That  even  the  Earl  of  Oxford 
dared  not  seem  on  good  terms  with  his  wife,  for  fear  of  losing  the 
favor  he  hoped  to  receive  by  making  love  to  you  :  that  you  were 
extravagant  towards  all  such  men,  their  tools,  and  accomplices  ;  as  to 
one  Gorge  of  your  chamber  to  whom  you  had  given  £300  per 
annum  for  bringing  you  the  news  of  Ilatton's  return.  That  to  all 
others,  you  were  a  very  ungrateful  niggard,  and  there  were  only  three 
or  four  in  your  kingdom  to  whom  you  had  ever  done  any  good. 
Counselling  me,  laughing  excessively  as  she  did  so,  to  put  my  son 
in  the  ranks  as  one  of  your  lovers,  as  a  thing  that  would  serve  me 
greatly,  and  quite  drive  the  Duke  out  of  the  field,  who  would  be 
very  prejudicial  to  me  if  he  remained  in  it,  and  on  my  replying  to 
her,  that  would  be  taken  for  an  actual  mockery,  she  answered,  that 
you  wrere  so  vain,  arid  had  so  good  an  opinion  of  your  beauty,  that 
you  deemed  yourself  some  celestial  goddess  ;  that  she  would  answer 
for  it  with  her  head,  to  make  you  easily  believe  it,  and  to  entertain 
my  son  in  this  humor  ;  that  you  took  so  much  pleasure  in  flatteries 
the  most  outrageous,  that  could  be  said  to  you  as,  for  instance,  that  one 
dared  not  at  times  look  you  full  in  the  face,  because  it  shone  like  the  sun. 
That  she  and  all  the  other  ladies  of  the  court  were  obliged  to  make 


LETTER    FROM    MARY    TO    ELIZABETH. 


use  of  such,  and  that  in  her  last  journey  with  you,  she  and  the  late 
Countess  of  Lenox  when  speaking  to  you,  dared  not  look  at  each 
other,  for  fear  of  bursting  into  peals  of  laughter  at  the  nonsense  she 
addressed  to  you,  entreating  me,  on  her  return,  to  check  her  daughter, 
whom  she  had  never  been  able  to  persuade  from  doing  the  same  ; 
and  as  to  her  daughter  Talbot,  she  felt  assured  that  she  would  never 
be  able  to  avoid  laughing  outright  in  your  face.  The  said  lady 
Talbot,  when  she  went  to  make  her  obeisance  to  you,  and  give  oath 
as  one  of  your  servants,  immediately  on  her  return  related  it  to  me 
as  a  thing  done  in  jest,  praying  me  to  accept  the  like,  but  more 
deeply  felt  and  sincere,  to  which,  I  for  a  good  while  made  refusal, 
but  finally,  being  overcome  by  her  tears  I  permitted  it.  She  saying 
that  she  would  not  for  anything  in  the  world  be  in  your  service,  near 
your  person,  for  she  would  be  afraid  that  when  you  were  angry  you 
would  do  to  her  as  you  had  done  to  her  cousin  Skedmur,  one  of 
whose  fingers  you  had  broken,  making  believe  to  those  about  the 
court  that  a  chandelier  had  fallen  upon  it  :  that  to  another  of  your 
servants  you  had  given  a  great  blow  with  a  knife,  upon  the  hand, 
and  in  a  word,  upon  these  last  points  and  common  little  reports, 
believe  me,  you  were  made  game  of,  and  mimicked  in  the  man 
ner  of  a  comedy,  even  amongst  my  women,  which,  perceiving, 
I  swear  to  you,  I  forbade  my  women  to  meddle  with  such  matters 
any  more.  Moreover,  the  said  countess  at  another  time  informed  me 
you  wished  to  appoint  Rolson.  to  make  love  to  me  and  to  try  to  dis 
honor  me,  either  actually,  or  by  evil  report,  for  which  he  had  in 
structions  from  your  own  mouth  :  that  Ruxby  came  here,  about  eight 
years  ago,  to  attempt  my  life,  having  first  spoken  to  you  about  it, 
who  had  said,  he  must  do  whatever  Walsingham  approved  and 
directed.  "When  the  said  countess  was  trying  to  bring  about  the 
marriage  of  her  son  Charles,  with  one  of  the  nieces  of  my  Lord  Paget, 
and  you,  on  the  other  hand,  would  have  her  by  pure  and  absolute 
authority  for  one  of  the  Knolles',  because  he  was  your  kinsman,  she 
inveighed  bitterly  against  you,  and  said  it  was  a  real  tyranny,  Avishing 
according  to  your  own  caprice  to  dispose  of  all  the  heiresses  of  the 
country  :  that  you  used  the  said  Paget  shamefully  by  opprobrious 


LETTER    FROM    MARY    TO    ELIZABETH. 


17 


words  ;  bnt  that  at  last,  the  nobility  of  this  kingdom  would  not  suffer 
you  to  do  the  same,  if  you  spoke  thus  to  some  she  well  knew.  It  is 
about  four  or  five  years  since  you  being  ill,  and  I  also,  at  the  same 
time,  she  told  me  that  your  illness  was  caused  by  the  closing  of  a 
fistula,  and  that  *  *  doubtless  you  would  die  very  soon ;  rejoicing 
herself  upon  a  vain  imagination  that  she  has  long  entertained  by  the 
prophecies  of  one  Jon  Lenton,  and  also  from  an  old  book  which 
foretold  your  death  by  violence,  and  the  succession  of  another  queen, 
whom  she  interpreted  to  be  myself;  regretting  only,  that  by  the,  said 
book  it  was  foretold  that  the  queen,  who  should  succeed  you  would 
reign  only  three  years,  and  die,  like  yourself  by  violence — all  which 
was  represented  in  a  picture  in  the  said  book,  the  last  leaf  of  whose 
contents  she  never  would  tell  me.  She  herself  knew  that  I  always 
looked  upon  this  as  mere  folly,  but  she  always  endeavored  to  ingra 
tiate  herself  with  me — and  even  that  my  son  should  marry  my  niece 
Arbela.  Now  to  conclude,  I  swear  to  you  upon  my  faith  and  honor 
that  the  above  is  very  true,  and  being  what  much  concerns  your  honor, 
it  has  never  been  my  intention  to  do  you  evil  by  revealing  it,  and  it 
shall  never  be  made  known  by  me,  holding  it,  as  I  do,  for  very  false. 
If  I  could  have  this  hour  to  speak  with  you,  I  would  tell  you  more  par 
ticularly  the  names,  times,  places,  and  other  circumstances  to  prove 
to  you  more  accurately  the  truth  of  these,  and  also  of  other  things, 
which  I  reserve  until  I  shall  be  entirely  assured  of  your  friendship, 
which  I  desire  more  than  ever,  and  if  I  can  once  obtain  this,  you 
never  had  kinswoman,  friend,  or  even  subject,  more  faithful  and 
affectionate  than  I  shall  be. 

May  God  grant  you  what  you  wish,  that  can  serve  you.  From 
my  bed,  forcing  my  arm  and  my  pains  in  order  to  satisfy  and  obey 
you. 

MAKIE  R. 

The  authenticity  of  this  singular  document  has  never  been  ques 
tioned,  though  doubts  have  been  expressed  as  to  whether  it  was 
ever  permitted  to  meet  the  eye  of  the  royal  personage  to  whom  it 
was  addressed ;  but  surely,  doubts  of  this  kind  are  strangely  mis- 

3 


IS  LETTER    FROM    MAKY    TO    ELIZABETH. 

placed  when  applied  to  Queen  Elizabeth,  in  whom  all  the  ferocity, 
pride,  and  cruelty  of  the  Tudors  were  concentrated ;  and  than  whom, 
no  sovereign,  male  or  female,  was  ever  more  tenacious  of  interference 
in  her  affairs,  either  public,  or  private.  That  a  communication  ad 
dressed  to  herself,  and  written,  as  is  declared  at  the  very  outset,  in  con 
sequence  of  a  long-deferred  promise  ;  should  have  been  withheld  upon 
any  plea  whatever,  argues  a  degree  of  temerity,  hardly  credible. 
That  a  letter  of  such  a  character  would  be  jealously  guarded,  is  suf 
ficiently  obvious,  nor  is  it  probable  that  during  the  life  of  Queen 
Elizabeth,  it  was  ever  seen  by  any  eye  but  her  own,  or  her  most  secret 
and  confidential  advisers ;  but  there  is  little  doubt  that  she  not 
only  received  it,  but  that  the  death  of  the  Queen  of  Scots  was  ulti 
mately  attributable  less  to  political  motives, — great  and  weighty  as  they 
undoubtedly  were, — than  to  those  of  personal  hatred  and  revenge,  to 
both  of  which,  a  letter  like  the  preceding  must  have  largely  con 
tributed. 

To  a  sovereign  like  Elizabeth,  so  imperious  of  will,  so  violent  in 
her  demonstrations  of  anger,  in  all  things  so  true  a  daughter  of 
Henry  VIIL,  the  bare  mention  of  weaknesses  flagrant  as  those 
described  so  piquantly,  and  submitted  to  notice  with  such  naive 
and  soothing  amiability,  must  have  created  a  state  of  mind  little 
short  of  madness  :  pride,  vanity,  outraged  self-love,  those  most 
powerful  of  all  the  pleaders  for  revenge  which  the  female  bosom 
entertains  ;  all  these,  together  with  others  more  specious,  but  never 
until  then,  brought  forward  as  sufficient,  may  be  supposed  to 
have  sprung  forth  at  once,  eager  to  destroy.  To  receive  such  a  list 
of  her  own  sins  against  propriety  and  morality  from  one  whom  she 
had  so  deeply  injured,  and  whom  she  openly  affected  to  despise  for 
similar  frailties,  must  have  been  a  cup  of  gall  and  wormwood,  whose 
bitterness  no  after  taste  of  sweetness  could  wholly  take  away  ;  and 
whose  influence  would  tend  but  to  rivet  more  closely  the  captive's 
chain,  even  if  it  did  not  effectually  stifle  any  lingering  spark  of  pity 
which  might  haply  have  remained,  even  in  a  breast  so  cruel  and 
obdurate  as  that  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  who  amidst  all  her  magnificent 
titles,  most  vaunted  that  of  "  England's  Maiden  Queen."  The  stroke 


LETTER    FROM    MAltY    TO    ELIZABETH.  _[9 

of  Death,  inflicted  according  to  the  favorite  fashion  of  the  Tudors,  by 
the  "sharp  medicine  of  the  axe,"  though  in  itself  involving  a  cata 
strophe  full  of  horror,  must,  to  the  subject  of  it  have  been  infinitely 
more  merciful,  than  the  barbarities  and  refinements  of  cruelty,  the 
secret  attempts  against  her  life  and  honor,  and  the  ceaseless  repetition 
of  harassing  vexations,  in  which,  for  eighteen  years,  Elizabeth  had  so 
fully  carried  out  her  determination  "  that  the  Scots  Queen  head 
should  never  rest."  Yet  withal,  it  was  a  dreadful  deed  ;  not  one  of 
those,  which  when  done  fall  into  the  ranks  of  the  past  and  are  for 
gotten  ;  but  one,  which  like  a  foul  and  mis-shapen  rock,  stands  out 
more  hideous  and  unnatural  from  the  encrustations  of  Time. 

That  both  Mary  and  Elizabeth  were  endowed  with  strong  passions 
and  fiery  tempers,  the  history  of  each  sufficiently  attests  ;  but  while 
in  Queen  Elizabeth,  they  displayed  themselves  in  a  manner  alike 
domineering,  selfish,  and  insatiable,  in  Mary  of  Scotland,  they  shone 
with  a  generous  and  romantic  fervor,  which  by  inducing  her  to  invest 
others  with  perfections  that  as  regarded  themselves,  existed  only  in 
her  OWTII  imagination,  caused  her  character  to  be  sullied  by  assimila 
tion  with  their  umvorthiness,  and  as  too  frequently  happened,  dark 
ened  even  to  obloquy,  by  their  misdeeds.  But  if  Mary  was  too  con 
fiding  in  prosperity,  she  possessed  in  a  wonderful  degree  the  power 
to  dignify  adversity.  Its  evil  hour  found  her  ever  prepared  for 
either  fortune ;  and  at  no  time  more  entitled  to  homage  as  a  queen, 
than  when  stripped  of  the  adventitious  aids  and  embellishments  of 
royalty.  Throughout  the  long  and  weary  years  of  her  imprisonment, 
her  conduct  is  continually  exciting  involuntary  admiration  and  respect 
even  from  her  bitterest  enemies  :  both  Leicester  and  Burghley,  no  less 
than  the  high-minded  and  devoted  Norfolk,  paying  their  tribute  of 
praise,  less  to  the  allurements  of  that  beauty,  which  exercised  such 
resistless,  and  generally  fatal  influence,  on  those  who  yielded  to  its 
fascination,  than  to  those  qualities  which  in  either  sex  elevate  and 
ennoble  human  nature.  That  feelings  of  indignation  against  her 
oppressors  should  prevail  over  more  prudential  considerations,  might 
be  naturally  imagined  in  one  so  constituted,  and  to  this,  must  be 
attributed  the  circumstance  of  her  having  at  length  decided  to  send 


20  LETTER    FROM    MARY    TO    ELIZABETH. 

to  lier  great  and  powerful  enemy,  the  "Letter"  which  has  called  forth 
the  foregoing  remarks.  Yet,  as  she  was  then  situated,  beset  with 
spies,  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  difficulties  and  dangers  that  grew 
more  perplexing  and  ominous  at  every  step,  such  an  act  seems  but 
natural  and  excusable,  as  the  only  means  of  retort  left  within  her 
power  upon  the  haughty  and  cruel  enemies  who  had  wrought  her  so 
much  woe.  The  Countess  of  Shrewsbury,  equally  with  the  Queen 
herself,  being  her  most  deadly  enemy.  Having  even,  as  Mary  herself 
declares  in  a  letter  to  Walsingham,  "  attempted  her  life."  The  con 
fidence  which  in  an  unguarded  moment  the  Countess  had  thought 
proper  to  repose  in  her  royal  captive,  at  once  became  a  formidable 
weapon  against  herself,  since  it  could  hardly  be  doubted  that  Elizabeth 
would  not  visit  with  her  heaviest  displeasure,  one,  who  holding  im 
portant  offices  about  her  person,  chief  female  favorite,  and  as  such 
cognizant  of  all  her  secrets,  had  so  egregiously  betrayed  her  trust  as 
to  confide  them  to  the  person  from  whom,  of  all  others,  it  would  seem 
desirable  they  should  be  withheld.  This,  however  had  been  done,  and 
for  a  moment  Mary  must  have  triumphed  ;  but  it  could  have  been 
but  as  one  of  those  fitful  lightnings,  which  give  a  momentary  flash  to 
the  wrecked  mariner,  and  leave  him  drifting  hopelessly,  and  in  dark 
ness  as  before.  In  sending  such  a  missive,  she  risked  every  thing, 
and  lost  all.  Impulse,  ever  a  doubtful  and  dangerous  leader  to 
princes,  being  especially  so  to  Mary,  the  greatest  misfortunes  of 
whose  life  may  be  attributed  to  having  yielded  to  its  guidance ; 
involving  her  in  a  thousand  perils,  which  a  greater  amount  of  self- 
control,  would  have  enabled  her  to  avoid. 


NOTICES    OF    MA11Y    QUEEN    OF    SCOTS.  21 


The  following  detached  notices  of  various  striking  portions  of 
the  chequered  life  of  Mary  of  Scotland,  with  the  poems  by  which 
they  are  accompanied,  claim  but  the  merit  of  not  having  deviated 
from  the  Truth  of  History.  Should  the  tradition  of  "  the  Lady  of 
Munro  "  be  deemed  an  exception,  it  may  safely  be  averred,  that  not 
a^IIighlandman  of  the  shires  of  Ross  or  Inverness,  but  would  singly 
take  the  iield  against  any  four  Southrons,  who  should  be  hardy 
enough  to  impugn  it. 

NOTRE  DAME,  24th  April,  1558. 

Cradled  in  silken  luxury,  the  youthful  days  of  the  beautiful  young 
Queen  of  Scotland  were  passed  amidst  scenes  of  love  and  pleasure, 
that  sped  on  with  the  splendor  and  swiftness  of  an  Arabian  Fairy 
Tale,  brilliantly  closed  by  her  marriage  with  the  Dauphin,  or,  as  he 
was  called  after  that  event,  the  Roy  Dauphin,  Francis,  eldest  son  of 
Henri  II.  of  France.  In  an  account  of  this  grand  ceremonial  by  an 
"eye  witness,"  a  most  pleasing,  or  as  the  writer  calls  it,  most  "  de- 
bonnaire  "  trait  is  recorded  of  the  gallant  Henri,  who,  perceiving  that 
by  reason  of  the  bridal  procession  having  to  pass  over  a  temporary 
scaffolding,  the  people  crowded  beneath  it  were  utterly  debarred 
from  seeing  the  spectacle,  instantly,  with  a  loud  and  cheerful  voice, 
so  ordered  the  procession  on  its  return,  that  by  a  skilful  detour,  all 
were  enabled  to  behold  it.  The  gratification  was  doubly  enhanced 
by  the  gay  and  condescending  manner  of  their  monarch,  whom  they 
hailed  with  acclamations,  and  shouts  of  enthusiasm. 


MAEY    QUEEN    OF    SCOTS. 


OUD  ring  the  bells  of  Notre  Dame, 
The  organ  peals ;  the  oriflamme 

Waves  o'er  a  royal  bride  : 
O'er  Mary  Stuart,  Scotland's  queen, 
Just  wedded  to  the  young-  Dauphin, 
In  royal  pomp  and  pride. 


ii. 


Encircled  by  a  jewelled  crown, 
Her  sunny  curls  of  golden  brown, 

Float  o'er  her  cheeks'  rich  glow  : 
Mingling  their  shadows  with  the  light 
Of  gems,  that  lie  like  raindrops  bright, 

Upon  her  breast  of  snow. 


in. 

Enthroned  in  state — her  bridegroom  nigh, 
No  evil  omen  daunts  her  eye, 

No  warning  voice  she  hears — 
But  while  loud  acclamations  ring, 
Salutes  her  lord  as  Scotland's  king, 

With  homage  from  its  peers. 


MARY   QUEEN    OF    SCOTS. 


IV. 

Barons  and  Earls  of  high  renown, 
Whose  names  reflect  on  Scotland's  crown 

The  grandeur  of  their  own. 
Beton  and  Kothes,  Cassillis  bold  ; 
Seton,  high  cast  in  honor's  mould, 

And  Erskiue,  Lord  of  Dun. 


v.  v 

While  through  the  bannered  aisles  advance 
The  charms  and  chivalry  of  France, 

Lords,  knights,  and  ladies  gay  : 
Plumes,  mantles,  robes,  and  sparkling  gems, 
Ilelms,  crosiers,  standards,  diadems, 

Beneath  the  arches  grey. 


Henri,  the  King !  nigh  whom  remain 
Guise,  Montmorenci,  Bar,  Lorraine, 

Prince,  cardinal,  and  peer  : 
Throughout  fair  France  no  castled  height 
But  sends  to-day  its  lady  bright, 

Its  noblest  cavalier. 

VII. 

And  foremost  midst  its  loveliest  dames 
With  glowing  cheek,  no  blush  e'er  shames. 

Object  of  many  a  vow  : 
Diane  de  Poitiers !  proudly  grand, 
With  jewelled  glove  upon  her  hand, 

And  crescent  on  her  brow. 

VIII. 

Queen-like,  with  lofty  head  unbowed, 
Catherine  de  Medicis,  the  proud, 
Shoots  her  dark  glance  afar. 


MAEY    QUEEN    OF    SCOTS. 

Where  graceful  Marguerite's  white  plumes  wave 
Near  Concle  and  Coligni  brave, 
By  Henri  of  Navarre. 


IX. 

The  trumpets  sound — the  cannons  roar — 
The  heralds  shout— the  banners  soar, 

While  largesse,  brightly  tossed, 
Falls  round  the  Car  where  sits  the  Queen 
Beside  the  haughty  Catherine 

Amidst  the  moving  host. 

x. 

The  noblest  ladies  of  the  land 
Around  her  ride  ;  in  knightly  hand 

Each  palfrey's  silver  chain  : 

Through  flower-strewn  streets,  where  brightly  fly 
Velvets  and  silks  from  lattice  high, 

With  cries  of  "  Vive  la  Reine !" 


XI. 


With  stately  mien,  and  knightly  grace, 
The  young  Dauphin  to  gentle  pace 

His  bounding  steed  controls  : 
While  Alen9on  and  Anjou  ride 
Beside  their  mother's  car  of  pride, 

As  slowly  on  it  rolls. 


XII. 


Attired  for  Tourney,  Tilt,  or  Joust, 
Came  armed  knights  whose  helmets  boast 

Their  ladies'  colors  gay  : 
On  barbed  steeds  to  music's  sound, 
Curvetting  o'er  the  flower-strewn  ground, 

A  long  and  bright  array. 


MARY    QUEEN    OF    ROOTS.  25 

XIII. 

A  mingled  stream  that  bears  along 
A  nation's  pride,  with  shout  and  song, 

The  triumph  to  enhance 
Of  Her,  who  thus  in  Life's  fresh  morn, 
Seems  but  to  joy  and  gladness  born, 

The  chosen  bride  of  France. 

XIV. 

Onward  the  tide  of  splendor  rolls — 
Midst  harp  and  song  the  joy-bell  tolls, 

The  wine-filled  fountains  flow  ; 
Till  day-light  wanes,  and  night's  dim  pall 
With  all  its  stars,  folds  bower  and  hall, 

And  silence  reigns  below. 

This  august  and  splendid  ceremonial,  conducted  with  almost  incre 
dible  magnificence  on  the  24th  of  April,  1558,  was  on  the  5th  of 
December,  1560,  succeeded  by  the  death  of  Francis  II.  in  the  Castle  of 
Orleans ;  he  being  at  that  time  only  sixteen  years,  ten  months,  and 
fifteen  days  old,  Mary,  attaining  her  eighteenth  year  a  few  days  after 
wards,  while  in  her  Deuil,  or  mourning  chamber ;  where,  according 
to  regal  etiquette,  it  was  her  duty  to  remain  forty  days  ;  excluded 
from  the  light  of  the  sun,  habited  in  white,  as  mourning ;  and  rigor 
ously  occupied  in  the  prayers  and  ceremonies  enjoined  by  the  Romish 
Church  to  a  Queen  Dowager  on  such  occasion  :  here  she  remained  in 
seclusion  the  prescribed  period,  served  only  by  female  attendants ; 
and  with  lamps  continually  burning  in  the  gloomy  apartments,  which 
were  all  hung  with  black,  as  was  also  the  great  hall,  where  the  body 
of  Francis  was  laid  in  state,  previous  to  its  interment  at  St.  Denis. 


THE    BURIAL    OF    FRANCIS    II.    AT    ST.     DENIS. 


I. 


TERNLY  through  the  aisles  resounding 

High  above  the  organ's  swell, 
From  the  arches  deep  rebounding, 

Sounds  a  monarch's  funeral  knell. 
Others,  with  it  slowly  tolling, 

As  the  coal  black  steeds  make  way, 
With  their  heavy  burthen  rolling 
To  St.  Denis'  old  abbaye. 


ii. 

Torch  and  cresset,  wildly  blazing, 

Stream  like  meteors  on  the  night, 
O'er  th'  assembled  thousands  gazing 

Casting  floods  of  lurid  light. 
While  the  martial  music  wailing, 

Dies  in  distance  far  away, 
Or  with  solemn  swell  prevailing, 

Moaning  fills  the  old  abbaye. 


There,  a  thousand  lights  are  burning, 

Bright  on  altar,  cell,  and  shrine ; 
Glimmering  plumes  and  folds  of  mourning, 

Scutcheon,  quoin,  and  column  twine. 
While  the  dark-robed  monks  are  singing 

Miserere,  deep  and  slow ; 
And  the  white-robed  boys  are  swinging 

Censers  round  them  as  they' go. 


THE    BriJIAL    OF    FUANCIS    II.    AT    ST.    DKNIS. 


King-like  on  the  bier  is  lying 

A  pale  statue,  robed  and  crowned, 
Sacred  ensigns  o'er  it  flying, 

Peers  and  princes  kneeling  round. 
Mitred  priests,  rich  vestments  wearing ; 

Monks  and  nuns,  a  long  array ; 
Crucifix  and  chalice  bearing, 

Chaunting  death-notes  on  their  way. 


Plaintively  their  voices  blending 

Soft  in  penitential  strain  ; 
That  with  silvery  sound  ascending, 

Pierces  heaven  with  human  pain. 
Thrilling  with  a  keener  anguish, 

The  pale  Queen,  who  drooping  led, 
Seems  like  rain-charged  flower  to 

In  the  pathway  of  the  dead. 


Shroud-like  veiled  with  bitter  weeping, 

At  the  altar  low  she  kneels ; 
O'er  the  dead  her  vigil  keeping, 

While  the  trumpet  loudly  peals. 
And  as  offerings,  nobly  guarded, 

Sceptres,  crowns,  and  coats  of  mail ; 
Stately  coursers,  plumed  and  barded, 

Traverse  transept,  nave,  and  aisle. 

VII. 

All  the  signs  of  pomp  and  splendor 
That  once  graced  a  powerful  king, 

Here  with  holy  rites  to  render, 

Humbly,  with  his  corse  they  bring. 


THE    BUKIAL    OF    FRANCIS   II.    AT    ST.    DENIS. 

Helm,  and  banner,  that  once  streaming 

In  the  light  of  battle  shone, 
Midst  funereal  emblems  gleaming, 

O'er  the  cold  sepulchral  stone. 

VIII. 

Onward  still — in  stream  unbroken 

Costly  gifts,  and  offerings  pour : 
Tn  his  grave,  last  solemn  token, — 

Their  dead  king  his  vassals  lower : 
Earth  to  Earth  !  a  voice  is  knelling — 

Slowly  melt  the  crowds  away, 
While  the  requiem  loudly  swelling, 

Fills  St.  Denis'  old  abbaye. 


HE  love  of  Mary  Stuart  for  Francis  the  Second,  the 
playmate  of  her  childhood,  the  lover  and  bridegroom 
of  her  youth,  appears  to  have  been  deep  and  sincere — 
the  grief  for  his  loss,  equally  so  ;  a  storm  of  passion  and 
regret,  heightened,  naturally,  by  the  circumstance  of 
finding  herself  reduced  at  once  from  the  enviable 
position  of  an  adored  and  beautiful  young  Queen  of  France,  the 
cynosure  of  all  eyes,  to  that  of  a  mere  cipher ;  obliged,  instantly  to 
resign  all  the  dear  delights,  hitherto  enjoyed  as  exclusively  her  own, 
and  to  become,  as  it  were,  a  pensioner  of  the  state.  A  mortifying 
transition  ;  requiring  much  self-control  in  one  so  young;  and  finding 
its  only  consolation,  in  the  endeavor  to  model  her  court  of  Scotland 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  afford  some  solace  for  the  wreck  of  all  her 
hopes  in  France. 


MARY    QUEEN    OF    SCOTS. 

Youthful  and  inexperienced,  accustomed  only  to  the  gaiety  and 
joys  of  that  delightful  and  buoyant  nation  ;  the  chivalrous  spirit  of 
its  chief  nobles ;  and  the  urbane  and  polished  tone  of  its  society ; 
which,  even  at  that  early  period  was,  as  compared  with  the  rest  of 
Europe,  singularly  refined  and  intellectual ;  it  is  easy  to  conceive  how 
dreary  an  exchange  to  one  so  nurtured,  would  be  the  semi-barbarous 
realm  of  Scotland ;  its  puritanical  people,  and  turbulent  nobility. 

The  ushering  omens  which  marked  the  experiment,  were  all 
mournful  and  disastrous  ;  strikingly  calculated  to  make  a  correspond 
ing  impression  on  a  temperament  like  hers :  nor  can  it  be  thought 
wonderful  that  she  should  have  felt  a  superstitious  terror,  when,  at 
the  very  moment  her  own  galley  was  leaving  the  port  of  Calais,  she 
saw  a  goodly  ship,  just  then  entering  the  harbor,  suddenly  sink  before 
her  eyes,  and  every  soul  on  board  perish.  Landing  at  Leith  on  the 
21st  August,  1561,  and  compelled  to  remain  there  during  a  whole 
day,  in  consequence  of  stormy  weather  and  incomplete  arrangements 
for  her  reception,  the  spirits  of  Mary  sank;  the  turbulent  ocean  from 
whose  fury  she  had  with  difficulty  escaped  ;  the  austere  sublimity  of 
the  scenery  by  which  she  was  surrounded;  and  it  may  be,  some  unde- 
finable  dread,  on  thus  entering  as  it  wrere,  upon  the  threshold  of  a 
new  existence,  all  combined  to  render  her  anxious  and  foreboding. 
But  the  reception  she  received  from  her  Scottish  subjects,  wThen 
fairly  amongst  them  was  so  enthusiastic,  that  it  soon  effaced  the 
repellant  impression  she  had  at  first  conceived  from  the  chilling  view 
of  her  native  land,  the  desolate  aspect  of  its  mist-covered  mountains, 
and  the  humble  appearance  of  the  train  appointed  to  escort  her  to 
the  palace  of  her  forefathers.  Once  within  its  walls,  she  forgot  every 
thing  that  had  previously  excited  her  displeasure ;  and  with  all  the 
natural  spirits,  and  easily  recovered  gaiety  of  youth,  entered  eagerly 
into  the  pleasures  and  festivities,  which  inaugurated  her  arrival  in 
Scotland. 

The  fire  of  loyalty  burns  brightly  in  the  North  ;  and  no  sooner 
had  the  daughter  of  its  ancient  kings  taken  up  her  residence  in  the 
capital,  than,  like  a  spark  on  the  heather,  its  flames  spread  over  the 
whole  kingdom.  The  nation,  as  one  man,  came  proudly  forth  to 


MARY    QUEEN    OF    SCOTS.  31 

welcome  her,  and  Mary  had  the  gratification  of  knowing  that  she 
was  again  a  Queen  :  her  presence  giving  dignity  and  importance  not 
only  to  the  capital,  but  to  the  whole  Scottish  nation;  new  life  seemed 
to  animate  the  people  ;  and  a  spirit  of  chivalrous  loyalty  was  diffused 
throughout  the  kingdom,  which  found  its  most  brilliant  concentration 
in  the  halls  of  Ilolyrood ;  where  throughout  a  series  of  entertainments 
conducted  in  a  style  of  luxury  and  elegance  hitherto  unknown  in 
Scotland,  Mary  Stuart,  in  the  bloom  and  beauty  of  her  nineteenth 
year,  received  the  delighted  and  admiring  homage  of  her  Scottish 
subjects. 

The  position  of  Mary  at  this  period  was  one  of  unequalled  dignity 
and  interest ;  young,  beautiful,  and  accomplished,  yet  in  need  of  aid 
and  sympathy,  she  at  this  time  carried  with  her  the  whole  heart  of 
Scotland.  The  vanity  of  the  nation  had  been  deeply  gratified  on  be 
holding  in  their  long-absent  queen,  the  loveliest  woman  in  Europe ; 
whilst  the  knowledge  of  her  misfortunes,  tli€  sorrowful  shadow 
resting  on  her  beautiful  features,  caused  by  her  last  bereavement, 
touchingly  indicated  by  the  peculiar  form  of  her  mourning  garments, 
powerfully  enlisted  popular  sympathy  in  her  favor,  and  gave  her  a 
claim  on  the  affections  of  her  people  which  that  of  mere  royalty, 
alone,  could  never  have  established.  When  nature  speaks,  all  men 
listen,  and  her  voice  now  found  an  echo  in  every  bosom,  awakening 
it  to  reverence  and  pity  for  the  fair  young  queen,  so  royally  de 
scended,  so  tenderly  nurtured,  yet  cast  upon  her  native  shore  almost 
desolate,  a  widow — and  an  orphan. 

Throughout  the  leifgth  and  breadth  of  the  land — in  the  nobleman's 
castle,  and  at  the  cotter's  fireside — her  name  was  in  every  mouth,  and 
the  royal  title,  long  unheard  in  Scotland,  again  a  watchword  of  love 
and  loyalty. 


11  0  L  Y  R  0  0  D. 


•maw 


N  majesty  and  beauty  bright, 
While  torch  and  cresset  give  their  light 

On  corbel,  coigne,  and  frieze, 
Queen  Mary  sits  with  all  her  train 
Amidst  her  kinsmen  of  Lorraine, 

De  Medici,  and  Guise. 


ii. 


The  peers  and  princes  of  the  land, 
With  those  of  France  on  either  hand, 

In  warlike  splendor  glow  ; 
High  dames  in  colors  rich  and  bright, 
Whose  antique  gems  of  dazzling  light 

On  their  proud  foreheads  show ; 


IIOLYKOOD.  33 


III. 

And  the  most  lovely    "  Maries  "    four, 
Those  far  famed  flowers  of  Scotia's  shore, 

Brave,  beautiful,  and  true  ; 
The  dark  eyed  Fleming — Seton  fair — 
Gay  Livingston  with  golden  hair, 

And  Betou's  eye  of  blue. 

IV. 

In  purple  robe — half  veiled,  half  crowned— 
Her  swan-like  neck,  with  jewels  bound, 

Upon  the  Dais  seen — 
Queen  Mary  graceful  leans  the  while 
Upon  the  Countess  of  Argyle, 

In  loveliness  serene. 

v. 

But  lo  !    a  change,  Lord  Darnley's  knee 
Hath  bent  to  Scotland's  majesty, 

Who,  gazing  on  his  face, 
His  manly  form,  and  bearing  proud, 
Forgets  herself — the  place — the  crowd, 

In  marvel  at  its  grace. 

VI. 

Then  follow  Murray,  Morton,  Mar, 
Gay  Gordon,  Bothwell,  Chastellar — 

She  sees  but  one  alone — 
And  in  that  moment  charged  with  Fate 
Selects  proud  Darnley  for  her  mate, 

The  partner  of  her  throne. 

VII. 

Silent — she  smiles — her  thoughts  are  sweet, 
Illusions  wild  before  her  fleet, 

All  clothed  in  love's  soft  bloom  : 
All  forms  in  one  bright  vortex  lost 
Where'er  she  looks  her  glance  seems  crossed 

By  Darnley's  waving  plume. 


HOLYEOOD. 
VIII. 

Then  coldly,  calm  as  violets  sliovv, 
In  peaceful  lustre  on  the  snow, 

She  meets  her  courtiers'  gaze, 
And  with  the  charm  of  all  her  race 
Leans  list'ning  forth  with  witching  grace, 

AVhile  Rizzio  sings  and  plays. 


Sudden  she  starts  as  from  a  sword — 
As  gleams  the  eye  of  Bothwell's  lord, 

With  its  dark  glance  of  fire. 
That  seems  in  all  her  thoughts  to  pry, 
And,  with  a  fierce  audacity, 

Tells  how  it  dare  aspire. 


That  lightning  flash,  scarce  seen  ere  gone, 
Appears  no  more — the  crowd  sweeps  on, 

The  pageant  disappears  : 
And  Scotland's  queen  in  chamber  lone 
Muses  on  the  beloved  one, 

With  all  love's  doubts  and  fears. 

In  a  choice  old  volume,  entitled  "  L'Innocence  de  Marie  Stuart," 
printed  in  France,  1572,  the  infatuation  of  Maiy  for  this  worthless 
young  nobleman  is  attributed,  not  to  his  fine  figure,  beautiful  fea 
tures,  manly  graces,  and  skill  in  horsemanship,  but  to  "  a  charmed 
pair  of  Brasseletz"  sent  to  Queen  Mary  while  in  Scotland,  by  the 
mother  of  Darnley,  she,  as  well  as  her  son,  being  then  in  England. 
The  writer,  speaking  of  these  magic  "Brasseletz,"  says  :  "  Nobody 
will  find  this  strange,  seeing  that  the  Isle  of  Albion  has  always  had 
an  evil  repute  for  sorceries."  .  In  reading  the  blood-stained  annals  of 
Scotland  at  this  period,  nothing  strikes  the  mind  with  more  horror 
than  the  startling  alternations — from  scenes  of  delight  and  festivity 
where  all  is  beauty  and  gladness,  to  the  darkest  perpetrations  of 
crime.  The  episode  of  the  mad  enthusiast  Chastellar  is  one  of  this 


C'HASTELLAR. 


35 


class.  Tlic  passionate  admiration  felt  by  Mary  for  the  divine  art 
of  which  he  was  so  enchanting  a  proficient,  should  have  pleaded 
for  the  folly  of  the  musician,  as  far  as  life  was  concerned,  since  her 
bitterest  enemies  knew  that  the  crime  of  Chastellar  consisted  only 
in  the  inordinate  vanity  of  supposing  his  beautiful  sovereign  felt  for 
him  a  sentiment  stronger  than  admiration. 

C  II  A  S  T  E  L  L  A  R . 


ROM  Scotland's  heart  is  risinor 

O 

A  joyful  wild  acclaim, 
The  northern  heavens  are  musical 

With  Mary  Stuart's  name  : 
It  floats  above  the  dark  old  trees 

Around  the  turrets  stroiio- 

O 

Of  Holyrood,  whose  towers  vibrate 
With  revelry  and  song. 

n. 
The  gallants  gay  of  many  a  land 

Move  through  its  ancient  hall, 
With  Scotland's  dames,  and  noblest  names . 

Arrayed  for  festival : 
Hear  ye  the  note  that  sweetly  rings 

From  corridor  afar  ? 
Onward !  press  on  !  there  sits  the  Queen 

And  dark-eyed  Chatellar. 

in. 

A  rose  hath  fallen  from  her  hand 

While  listening  to  his  lay, 
She  sees  it  not — she  heeds  it  not, 

Her  heart  is  far  away —  * 
Nor  dreams  while  thinking  of  the  hills 

And  chalets  of  Navarre, 
Her  rose  lies  on  the  throbbing  heart 

Of  maddened  Chatellar. 


CHASTELLAE. 


But  hate  and  envy  watchfully 

Have  marked  the  daring  deed, 
Have  called  its  rashness  infamy, 

And  Lade  the  slander  speed  : 
Well  pleased  to  wound  her  gentle  heart, 

That  now  so  softly  thrills 
To  hear  the  songs  she  loved  in  youth 

Among  the  Bearnois  hills. 


"  Again,"  she  cries,  "  that  simple  air 

Upon  my  heart  it  lies, 
Like  rose-hues  on  the  snowy  alp, 

Beneath  Navarre's  blue  skies." 
She  hears  a  voice—"  How  happy  he 

Who  thus  our  queen  beguiles," 
And  with  a  keen  and  haughty  pain 

Sees  scornful  looks  and  smiles. 

VI. 

Her  white  hand  waves,  the  harp  grows  mute, 

The  minstrel  slow  retires, 
Fire  in  his  eye,  and  in  his  heart 

A  host  of  wild  desires, 
Of  hopes  that  blindly  lead  to  crime, 

Wild  worship  of  a  star, 
Whose  beam  to  thee  brings  naught  but  death, 

Ill-fated  Chatellar. 

The  reign  of  Mary  Stuart  in  Scotland  comprised  but  seven 
years.  In  that  little  space,  w.hat  life,  excepting  her  own,  has  ever 
exhibited  a  drama  so  splendid  and  so  terrible  ?  The  following 
pleasing  incident,  illustrative  of  her  own  native  excellence  of  dispo 
sition,  is  said  to  have  occurred  during  that  memorable  expedition 
which  Mary,  under  the  evil  guidance  of  Murray,  undertook  against 


THE    LADY    OF    MUNEO. 


3T 


the  Gordons.  Munro  himself,  attended  by  all  his  clan,  being  in 
attendance  upon  the  Queen,  while  his  lady  and  their  stalwart  sons 
and  daughters,  made  their  obeisance  before  her  in  the  hall  of  the 
castle  of  Inverness.  TO  this. boastful  display  of  her  treasures,  the 
subsequent  loss  of  nearly  the  whole  number,  beginning  almost  im 
mediately  from  that  time,  was  superstitiously  attributed  by  the 
dwellers  in  the  Highlands,  who,  like  the  ancient  Jews,  considered 
the  act  of  "  numbering"  worldly  possessions  to  be  especially  dis 
pleasing  to  the  Most  High,  and  a  certain  means  to  bring  down  upon 
the  head  of  the  offender  a  signal  judgment,  heavy  in  proportion  to 
his  presumption.  The  words  ascribed  to  Mary  as  applied  to  Lady 
Munro  are,  "  Rise,  madame,  ye  suld  be  in  this  chair,  and  not  I." 

THE    LADY     OF     MUNRO. 

I. 
TJEEX  Mary  rides  through  Inverness, 

Earl  Murray  at  her  hand  : 
While  long  and  loud,  the  people  bless 
The  lady  of  the  land. 

n. 

The  streets  are  decked  like  marriage  bowers. 

With  silken  hangings  gay; 
The  bells  ring  in  the  old  grey  towers, 

The  minstrels  loudly  play. 

in.  .  -  •  i 
O'er  paths  where  crowding  thousands  press. 

While  flowers  around  her  fall, 
The  Queen  rides  on  through  Inverness, 

To  good  King  Duncan's  hall. 

IV. 

Midst  ladies  fair  in  silk  and  pearl, 

Midst  steel-clad  barons  bold, 
With  lord  ami  duke,  and  knight  and  earl, 

Her  royal  court  to  hold. 


THE    LADY    OF    MUNEO. 


V. 


The  priest  hath  left  his  book  and  bell, 
The  husbandman  his  corn  ; 

The  cloistered  nun,  in  convent  cell, 
Tells  not  her  beads  this  morn. 


VI. 


The  aged  crone  who  by  the  hearth 
Aye  sits  from  morn  till  e'en, 

Calls  for  her  crutch,  and  hirples  forth 
To  see  the  bonnic  Queen. 


VII. 


Above  the  castle's  ancient  keep, 
The  Scottish  standard  soars ; 

The  gunners  to  the  ramparts  leap, 
The  thundering  cannon  roars. 


VIII. 


While  with  a  shout  that  rends  the  sky, 
And  rings  o'er  dale  and  down, 

The  loyal  clans  come  sweeping  by, 
And  fill  the  ancient  town. 


IX. 


MacGrcgor,  and  MacPherson  proud, 

Mackenzie  and  Munro ; 
Whose  warlike  pibrochs  fierce  and  loud 

The  stalwart  pipers  blow. 


x. 


That  music  wild  of  highland  clan 

Brings  fire  to  Mary's  eye  ; 

"  I  would,  my  lords,  I  were  a  man, 

My  martial  strength  to  try. 


THE    LADY    OF    MUNliO. 
XI. 

"  With  sword  and  buckler,  spear  and  jack, 

By  night  and  day  to  ride, 
With  these  bold  followers  at  my  back, 
And  fortune  for  my  guide." 

XII. 

Thus  blithe  of  mood,  with  heart  elate, 
And  smiling  courtiers  round, 

She  passes  through  the  castle  gate 
To  drum  and  trumpet's  sound. 


Through  court  and  hall  for  banquet  spread, 

In  long  and  glittering  lines, 
Where,  with  her  canopy  overhead, 

She  gracefully  reclines. 

XIV. 

Rich  gifts  of  silver,  and  of  gold, 

Her  loyal  subjects  bring, 
Mantles,  and  costly  cups  that  hold 

Fair  jewels,  purse,  or  ring. 

xv. 
And  lo  !  a  dame  of  regal  port, 

Majestical  and  slow, 
Reins  her  white  charger  in  the  court, 

The  Lady  of  Munro ! 

XVI. 

Twelve  stately  sons  before  her  ride, 

In  coats  of  Lincoln  green, 
On  jet-black  steeds  whose  fiery  pride 

Suits  well  each  rider's  mien. 


THE    LADY    OF    MUNRO. 
XVII. 

Behind,  twelve  daughters,  passing  fair, 
On  milk-white  palfreys  ride, 

All  clothed  in  white,  whose  golden  hair 
The  silken  snoods  half  hide. 


Alighting  midst  the  wondering  crowd, 

They  reach  the  banquet  hall, 
That  noble  matron  stern  and  proud, 

Those  sons  and  daughters  tall. 

XIX. 

«*  I  bring  my  Queen  no  jewels  bright, 

No  silks  of  India's  loom, 
But  twelve  strong  sons  in  manhood's  might, 
Twelve  maids  in  beauty's  bloom. 


"  My  sons  for  pages,  give  I  thee, 

For  maids,  my  daughters  dear  :" 
Then  rose  the  Queen,  and  earnestly 
Cried,  "  Dame,  thou  sukl  be  here. 

XXI. 

"  This  royal  chair  'tis  thou  sukl  fill, 

And  /  be  kneeling  low  ; 
Arise,  madamc  ;  ne'er  did  our  will 
More  gladly  boon  bestow." 

XXII. 

Then,  while  the  roof  with  gladness  rung, 
And  swords  waved  to  and  fro, 

The  Lord  of  Foulis  forward  sprung, 
Chief  of  the  Clan  Munro. 


MAHY    QUEEN    OF    SCOTS.  4  \ 

XXIII. 

Clasping  his  lady  by  the  hand, 

They  knelt  full  lowlv  down, 
Surrounded  by  that  filial  band, 

To  her  who  wore  the  crown. 

XXIV. 

But  on  that  bright  and  living  chain, 

Fate's  seal  of  doom  was  set. 
From  that  day  forth  'twas  rent  in  twain, 

No  more  its  links  e'er  met. 

xxv. 
Those  stately  sons,  those  daughters  bright, 

Oft  numbered  proudly  o'er, 
By  their  fond  mother,  on  that  night; 

For  her,  soon  smiled  no  more. 


They  drooped,  and  perished,  one  by  one, 
Like  wreaths  of  melting  snow  ; 

£> 

Till  on  her  hearth  she  sat,  alone, 
The  Lady  of  Munro. 

The  words  ascribed  to  Mary  during  her  warlike  expedition,  are 
described  by  Eandolph  in  one  of  his  despatches  to  Cecil  as  "  that 
she  repented  nothing,  but  that  she  was  not  a  man,  to  know  what  life 
it  was  to  lie  all  night  in  the  fields ;  or  to  walk  upon  the  causeway 
with  a  Jack  and  knapsack  ;  a  Glasgow  buckler,  and  a  broad  sword."* 
It  is  from  little  bursts  of  nature,  like  the  preceding,  that  character 
can  be  better  understood  than  from  the  longest  disquisition  on  mere 
mental  and  moral  qualities  ;  and  throughout  the  life  of  the  unfortun 
ate  Queen  of  Scots,  these  gleams  of  sunshine  are  perpetually  strug 
gling  through  the  clouds  that  surrounded  her,  and  making  us  feel 


*  Randolph  to  Cecil.     State  Paper  Office. 

6 


4:2  MARY    QUEEN    OF    SCOTS. 

how  cruelly  adverse  to  lier  real  feelings  and  disposition  was  the  ar 
duous  and  dangerous  position  which  she  was  called  upon  to  sustain. 
The  crimes  which  have  marked  her  reign,  were  those  of  her  council 
lors — the  virtues,  all  her  own  ;  and  as  misfortunes  thicken  around 
her,  until  finally,  in  1568,  we  behold  her  weeping  within  the  walls 
of  Haworth  or  Carlisle,  it  is  impossible  to  avoid  asking,  Where  was 
then  the  chivalry  of  Scotland  ?  At  this  point  of  her  history  there  can 
scarcely  be  imagined  a  situation  more  forlorn  and  desolate.  To  one 

i.  O 

who  had  been  so  tenderly  nurtured  in  the  very  lap  of  luxury,  how 
dire  was  the  condition  in  which  she  found  herself — a  hunted,  perse 
cuted  fugitive,  who  having  blindlv  rushed  into  the  snare  of  her  ene- 

O  &  v 

mies,  only  became  aware  of  her  mistake  when  too  late  to  retrieve  it. 
Her  own  words  will  best  convey  an  idea  of  the  misery  to  which  she 
was  reduced.  Writing  to  her  uncle,  the  Cardinal  of  Lorraine,  after 
having  previously  enumerated  the  chief  evils  that  had  befallen  her, 
she  thus  expresses  herself:* 

"  FROM  CARLISLE,  21  JUNE,  1568. 

"  I  now  commit  myself  to  the  competency  of  the  bearer  hereof, 
and  beseech  you  to  have  compassion  for  the  honour  of  your  poor 
niece,  and  provide  the  assistance  which  the  bearer  will  mention  to 
you  ;  and  in  the  meantime,  send  money,  for  I  have  not  wherewith  to 
purchase  bread,  nor  linen,  nor  clothes.  The  Queen  hath  sent  me 
hither  a  little  linen,  and  provides  me  with  one  dish,  the  rest  I  have 
borrowed,  but  I  cannot  do  so  any  more.  You  will  participate  in  this 
disgrace,  Sandy  Clerk,  who  was  in  France  on  behalf  of  this  false 
bastard,  boasts  that  you  will  not  either  provide  me  with  money  nor 
meddle  in  my  affairs.  God  tries  me  severely ;  however,  rest 
assured  that  I  shall  die  a  Catholic ;  God  will  relieve  me  from  these 
miseries  very  soon.  For  I  have  endured  injuries,  calumnies,  im 
prisonment,  famine,  cold,  heat,  flight,  not  knowing  whither,  ninety-two 
miles  across  the  country  without  stopping  or  alighting,  and  then  I 
have  had  to  sleep  upon  the  ground,  and  drink  sour  milk,  and  eat 

*  Contemporary  Copy,  British  Museum.  MSS.  Sloane,  1399,  Fol.  21. 


MARY    QUEEN    OF    SCOTS.  43 

oatmeal  without  bread,  and  have  been  three  nights  like  the  owls, 
without  a  female  in  this  country,  where,  to  crown  all,  I  am  little  else 
than  a  prisoner." 

While  thus  bewailing  her  miseries  she  had  the  mortification  to 
find  that  although  unable  herself  to  obtain  access  to  the  presence  of 
Queen  Elizabeth,  her  rebellious  traitors  and  bitterest  enemies,  some  of 
whom  were  notorious  as  perpetrators  of  crimes  revolting  to  humanity, 
received  instant  grace  and  favour,  and  were  in  all  instances  welcomed 
with  an  ardour  proportioned  to  the  degree  of  animosity  they  evi 
denced  against  their  sovereign ;  their  criminal  accusations  against  her 
indulgently  heard,  and  no  means  of  injury  left  untried,  that  royal 
hatred  when  joined  to  absolute  authority  can  so  easily  command. 

The  celebrated  casket  of  pretended  Jove-letters  from  Mary  to  Both- 
well,  was  now  produced,  and  presented  under  the  name  of  the  Eik  ; 
—it  being  found  necessary  to  eke  out  their  accusation  by  something 
more  directly  tending  to  implicate  her  in  the  murder  of  Darnley  than 
they  had  yet  been  able  to  do.  This  collection  of  letters  was  eagerly 
received  as  sufficient  evidence  of  her  having  been  the  adulterous 
accomplice  of  Bothwell,  in  the  dreadful  tragedy  of  the  Kirk  of  field, 
and  as  such,  republished  in  English ;  Buchanan,  who,  it  is  believed, 
mainly  furnished  the  originals,  adding  amplifications  and  remarks. 

These  pretended  love-letters,  though  without  either  suhscription, 
date,  or  seal,  and  characterized  by  a  silliness  and  grossness  of  style, 
utterly  unlike  anything  ever  known  to  have  proceeded  from  the  pen 
of  Mary,  were  read  with  avidity,  and  widely  disseminated,  although 
the  most  rigorous  precautions  were  used  to  prevent  the  unhappy 
Queen  herself  from  gaining  a  sight  of  them.  Queen  Elizabeth, 
writing  to  one  of  her  ambassadors  in  France,  1571,  gives  him  the 
following  instructions  for  convincing  "  the  most  Christian  King" 
(CharlesIX.)thatheoughtnottofavourthe  Queen  of  Scots:  "  and  here 
it  were  not  amiss,  to  have  clivers  of  Buchanan's  little  Latin  books  to 
present,  if  need  were,  to  the  king,  as  from  yourself,  and  likewise  to  some 
of  the  noblemen  of  his  council  ;  for  they  will  serve  to  good  effect  to 
disgrace  her,  which  must  be  done  before  other  purposes  are  attained" 


44  MARY    QUEEN    OF    SCOTS. 

While  her  enemies  were  thus  working  openly  and  covertly  for 
her  destruction,  the  unhappy  Queen  was  condemned  to  a  state  of  the 
most  helpless  inactivity  :  deprived  of  all,  but  the  energies  of  her 
own  mind,  she  exerted  them  to  the  utmost  in  remonstrances  and  ap 
peals,  delivered  through  her  ambassadors,  and  thus  spiritedly  wrote 
to  her  commissioners  the  demands  they  were  to  make  in  her  name : 
"  Moreover,  that  there  be  sufficient  leisure  given  us  to  answer  and 
verify  their  impostures  and  crimes  which  we  have  to  lay  to  their 
charge  with  respects  which  should  be  kept  towards  such  a  queen  as 
we  are ;  in  the  meantime  that  our  rebels  be  not  fortified,  assisted,  nor 
favoured  against  us  by  any  of  our  said  good  sister's  ministers.  Which 
conditions  are  asked  by  us,  because  we  will  not  that  our  said  good 
sister,  nor  any  prince  in  the  world,  shall  esteem  that  we  think  our 
reputation  of  so  little  value  to  put  the  same  into  the  hands  of  any 
living  creature,  so  far  as  we  may  perceive;  and  although  we  leave 
our  person,  life,  and  hazard  of  our  estate  to  our  said  good  sister,  we 
would  be  loth  she  should  think  that  we  reserve  not  it  that  we  hold 
dearest,  which  is  our  honour,  and  are  resolved  to  defend  the  same 
ourself,  or  at  the  least  to  assist  you  therein,  not  doubting  of  your  in 
tegrity  towards  us,  and  that  ye  have  matter*  to  confound  the  impu 
dence  of  our  traitors  as  well  in  this  4  addition'  as  ye  did  in  that  which 
was  past  at  York." 

Whilst  at  Boston,  1569,  awaiting  the  decision  of  the  English  com 
missioners,  the  "Little  Douglas,"  who  performed  so  gallant  a  service 
in  aiding  his  royal  mistress  to  escape  from  Lochleven,  was  found  to 
be  missing,  and  the  most  dismal  apprehensions  were  entertained  by 
herself  and  attendants  respecting  his  safety,  as  threats  of  vengeance, 
in  which  her  own  life  was  also  included,  had  repeatedly  been  made 
against  him.  In  this  state  of  painful  uncertainty,  she  addressed  a 
letter  to  the  Bishop  of  Ross,  Lord  Herries,  and  the  Abbot  of  Kil- 
winning,  in  which  she  writes  : 

"  Also,  we  understand  that  William  Douglas  was  tint  (lost)  im- 

*  Meaning  the  Eik. 


MARY    QUEEN    OF    SCOTS.  4.5 

mediately  after  he  had  gotten  his  passport  of  the  Queen  our  good 
sister,  which  could  not  have  been,  but  by  the  means  of  these  rebels, 
who  bear  deadly  hatred  to  all  those  that  have  done,  and  do,  their 
duty  towards  us ;  which  we  pray  you  shew  to  the  Queen  our  good 
sister,  beseeching  her,  in  our  name,  that  she  suffer  him  not  to  be 
treated  in  that  manner  in  her  realm,  so  near  her  court,  being  under 
her  protection,  who  set  us  at  liberty  and  saved  our  life,  doing  the  act 
of  a  venturous  and  faithful  subject  to  his  sovereign  and  natural 
Princess,  and  therefore  is  taken  away  by  them  who,  as  it  will  be 
spoken,  are  more  favoured  than  justice  requires.  James  Drysdale, 
one  of  the  Laird  of  Lochleven's  servants,  being  evil  content  of  the 
good  service  which  the  said  William  did  unto  us,  said,  in  presence  of 
some  of  our  servants,  that  if  ever  he  met  with  him,  he  should  put 
his  hands  in  his  heart's  blood,  whatever  might  follow  thereupon,  and 
as  to  us,  he  should  give  us  to  the  heart  with  'ane  Whingar'  (sword). 
Wherefore  ye  shall  solicit  our  good  sister,  that  the  said  Drysdale  be 
made  fast  in  consideration  of  the  premises.  He  knows  what  is  become 
of  the  said  William.  So,  committing  you  to  the  protection  of  Almighty 
God,  off  Bolton,  the  second  day  of  January,  1568,  your  good  mistress. 

"  MARIE  R." 

Willie  was  found,  and  lived  long  afterwards  as  one  of  the  pen 
sioners  of  his  royal  benefactress.  In  an  affecting  letter,  written  by 
her  to  her  banished  servants,  dated  Sheffield,  18  September,  1571,  the 
following  passage  occurs  :  u  And  you,  William  Douglas,  rest  assured 
that  the  life  you  have  risked  lor  mine,  shall  never  be  destitute  so  long 
as  I  have  a  friend  alive.  Do  not  part  company  till  you  reach  the 
French  court,  and  there,  all  of  you  together  wait  upon  my  ambassa 
dor,  and  tell  him  all  you  have  seen  or  heard  of  me  or  mine."  (This 
letter  wras  intercepted  at  Sheffield,  and  sent  to  Burghley).  In  the  will 
of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  is  the  following  :  "  Quoy  faisant  la  pension 
de  Guillaume  Duglas  me  reviendra." 

The  representations  and  remonstrances  of  the  Scottish  commission 
ers  produced  no  effect  on  a  cause  already  pre-judged.  As  the  mock 
solemnity  proceeded,  she  must  have  felt  a  sad  presentiment  that  the 


46  MARY    QUEEN    OF    SCOTS. 

foot  of  her  enemy  then  on  her  neck,  would  never  be  removed,  espe 
cially  when  at  the  close  of  the  investigation,  Murray  and  his  asso 
ciates  were  honourably  dismissed  with  great  rewards,  whilst  she  her 
self  was  hastily  removed  from  Bolton  Castle,  and  consigned  in  the 
dead  of  the  winter  to  the  noxious  and  dilapidated  walls  of  that  of  Tut- 
bury,  where,  under  the  custody  of  the  Earl  of  Shrewsbury,  although  he 
personally  was  one  of  the  most  humane  of  all  her  jailors,  she  expe 
rienced  the  most  cruel  restraints  and  hardships,  similar  in  character 
to  those  she  endured  whilst  under  the  charge  of  the  same  nobleman 
at  Sheffield,  from  whence  she  thus  writes  to  Monsieur  de  la  Mothe 

Fenelon  : 

"SHEFFIELD,  Nov.  7,  1571. 

"  My  people  are  not  permitted  to  go  beyond  the  gate  of  this  cas 
tle,  and'all  Lord  Shrewsbury's  servants  are  prohibited  from  speaking 
to  mine.  The  displeasure  which  this  Queen  has  expressed  to  you  by 
Burghley  is  followed  in  my  instance  by  new  severity  and  menaces : 
I  am  confined  to  my  chamber,  of  which  they  wish  again  to  wall  up  the 
windows,  and  make  a  false  door,  by  which  they  may  enter  when  lam 
asleep ;  and  my  people  will  no  longer  be  permitted  to  come  there,  except 
a  few  valets,  and  the  rest  of  my  servants  will  be  removed  from  me." 

Whilst  at  Tntbury,  when  in  her  twenty-seventh  year,  in  the  full 
flush  of  beauty,  while  hope  was  yet  in  the  ascendant,  and  ere  time 
and  sorrow  had  impaired  her  spirit  or  lessened  her  charms,  she  was 
beheld  by  Master  Nicholas  White,  afterwards  Sir  Nicholas  White, 
and  Master  of  the  Kolls  in  Ireland..  From  the  tenor  of  the  following 
letter  to  Lord  Burghley,  this  accomplished  and  sycophantic  courtier, 
in  spite  of  himself,  seems  to  have  received  the  same  favourable  impres 
sion  which  never  failed  to  strike  all  those  who  for  the  first  time  had 
an  opportunity  of  beholding  and  conversing  with  this  ill-fated 
princess. 

MR.  NICHOLAS  WHITE  TO  SIR  WILLIAM  CECILL. 

«  26  FEB.,  1568-9. 
u  When  I  came  to  Colsell,  a  town  in  Chesterway,  I  understood  that 


MARY    QUEEN    OF    SCOTS. 


Tutbury  Castle  was  not  above  half  a  day's  journey  out  of  my  way. 

Finding  the  wind  contrary,  and  having  somewhat  to  say  to  my  Lord 

of   Shrewsbury,   touching  the  country  of   Wexford,  I    took    post- 

horses,  and  came  thither  about  live  of  the  clock  in  the  evening,  where 

I  was  very  friendly  received  by  the  earl     The  Qneen  of  Scots,  un 

derstanding  by  his  lordship  that  a  servant  of  the  Queen's  Majesty's 

of  some  credit  was  come  to  the  house,  seemed  desirous  to  speak  with 

me,  and  thereupon  came  forth  of  her  privy  chamber  into  the  pre 

sence  chamber  where  I  was.  and  in  very  courteous  manner  bade  me 

welcome,  and  asked  of  me  how  her  good  sister  did  !     I  told  her  Grace 

that  the  Queen's  Majesty  (God  be  praised)  did  very  well,  saving  that 

all  her  felicities  gave  place  to  some  natural  passions  of  grief,  which 

she  conceived  for  the  death  of  her  kinswoman  and  good  servant  the 

Lady  Knollys  ;  and  IIOAV  by  that  occasion  her  highness  fell  for  a  while 

from  a  prince  wanting  nothing  in  this  world,  to  private  mourning;  in 

which  solitary  estate  being  forgetful  of  her  own  health,  she  took 

cold,  wherewith  she  was  much  troubled,  and  whereof  she  was  well 

delivered.     This  much  passed,  she  heard  the  English  service  with  a 

book  of  the  Psalms  in  English,  in  her  hand,  which  she  shewed  me 

after.     When  service  was  done,  her  Grace  fell  in  talk  with  me  of 

sundry  matters  from  six  to  seven  of  the  clock,  beginning,  first,  to 

excuse  her  ill  English,  declaring  herself  more  willing,  than  apt,  to 

learn  that  language  ;  how  she  used  translations  as  a  means  to  attain 

it,  and  that  Mr.  Yice  Chamberlain  was  her  good  school-master  ;  from 

this  she  returned  back  again  to  talk  of  my  Lady  Knollys,  and  after 

many  speeches  past  to  and  fro  of  that  gentlewoman,  I  perceiving  her 

to  harp  much  upon  her  departure,  said  that  the  long  absence  of  her 

husband  (and  specially  in  that  article),  together  with  the  fervency  of 

her  fever,  did  greatly  further  her  end  ;  wanting  nothing  else  that  either 

art  or  man's  help  could  devise  for  her  recovery  ;  lying  in  a  prince's 

court,  near  her  person,  where  every  hour  her  careful  ear  understood 

of  her  estate,  and  where  also  she  was   very  often  visited  by  her 

majesty's  own  comfortable  presence  ;  and  said  merely,  that  although 

her  Grace  were  not  culpable  of  this  accident,  yet  she  was  the  cause 

without  which  their  being  asunder  had  not  happened.     She  said  she 


£8  MARY    QUEEN    OF    SOOTS. 

was  very  sorry  for  her  death,  because  she  hoped  well  to  have  been 
acquainted  with  her.  I  perceive  by  my  Lord  of  Shrewsbury,  said  she, 
that  ye  go  into  Ireland  (which  is  a  troublesome  country),  to  serve  my 
sister  there.  I  do  so,  Madame  ;  and  the  chiefest  trouble  of  Ireland  pro 
ceeds  from  the  north  of  Scotland,  through  the  Earl  of  Argile's  sup- 
portation ;  whereunto  she  little  answered.  I  asked  her  how  she  liked 
her  change  of  air  ?  She  said,  if  it  might  have  pleased  her  good  sister 
to  let  her  remain  where  she  was,  she  would  not  have  removed  for 
change  of  air,  this  time  of  the  year;  but  she  was  the  better  contented 
therewith,  because  she  was  come  so  much  the  nearer  to  her  good 
sister,  whom  she  desired  to  see  above  all  things  if  it  might  please 
her  to  grant  the  same.  I  told  her  Grace  that  although  she  had  not  the 
actual,  yet  she  had  always  the  effectual  presence  of  the  Queen's  Majesty, 
by  her  "great  bounty  and  kindness,  who  (in  the  opinion  of  us  abroad 
in  the  world),  did  every  way  perform  towards  her  the  office  of  a 
gracious  prince,  a  natural  kinswoman,  a  loving  sister,  and  a  faithful 
friend  ;  and  how  much  she  had  to  thank  God,  that  after  the  passing 
of  so  many  perils,  she  was  safely  arrived  into  such  a  realm,  as  where 
all  we,  of  the  common  sort,  deemed  she  had  good  cause,  through  the 
goodness  of  the  Queen's  Majesty,  to  think  herself  rather  prince-like 
entertained,  than  hardly  restrained  of  anything  that  was  fit  for  her 
Grace's  estate,  and  for  my  own  part  did  wish  her  Grace  meekly  to 
bow  her  mind  to  God,  who  hath  put  her  into  this  school  to  learn  to 
know  him  to  be  above  kings  and  princes  of  this  world  ;  with  such 
other  like  speeches  as  time  and  occasion  then  served  ;  which  she  very 
gently  accepted,  and  confessed  that  indeed  she  had  great  cause  to 
thank  God  for  sparing  of  her,  and  great  cause  likewise  to  thank  her 
good  sister  for  this  kindly  using  of  her.  As  for  contentation  in  this  her 
present  estate,  she  would  not  require  at  God's  hands  but  only  patience, 
which  she  humbly  prayed  him  to  give  her.  I  asked  her  Grace,  since 
the  weather  did  cut  off  all  exercises  abroad,  how  she  passed  the  time 
within  ?  She  said  that  all  day  she  had  wrought  with  her  Nydill, 
and  that  the  diversity  of  the  colours  made  the  work  seem  less  tedious, 
and  continued  so  long  at  it  till  very  pain  made  her  to  give  over  ;  and 
with  that,  laid  her  hand  upon  her  left  side,  and  complained  of  an  old 


MARY    QUEEN    OF    SCOTS.  49 

grief  newly  increased  there.  Upon  this  occasion  she  entered  into 
a  pretty  disputable  comparison  between  carving,  painting,  and  work 
ing  with  the  needle,  affirming  painting,  in  her  own  opinion,  for  the  most 
commendable  quality.  I  answered  her  Grace  I  could  skill  of  neither 
of  them,  but  that  I  have  read  Pictura  to  be  veritas  falsa.  With  this 
she  closed  up  her  talk,  and  bidding  me  farewell,  retired  into  her  privy 
chamber.  She  said  nothing  directly  of  yourself  to  me,  nevertheless 
I  found  that,  which  at  my  first  entry  into  her  presence  chamber  I 
imagined,  which  was  that  her  servant  J3et/iun  had  given  her  some  privy 
note  of  me  ;  for  as  soon  as  he  espied  me  he  forsook  our  acquaintance 
at  court,  and  repaired  straight  into  her  privy  chamber,  and  from  that 
forth  could  never  see  him  ;  but  after  supper  Mr.  Harry  Knollys  and 
I  fell  into  some  close  conference,  and  lie  (among  other  things)  told 
me  how  loth  the  Queen  was  to  leave  Bolton  Castle,  not  sparing  to 
give  forth  in  speech  that  the  secretary  was  her  enemy,  and  that  she 
mistrusted  by  this  removing,  he  would  cause  her  to  be  made  away  ; 
and  that  her  danger  was  so  much  the  more  because  there  was  one 
dwelling  very  near  Tutbury  which  pretended  title  in  succession  to 
the  crown  of  England  (meaning  the  Earl  of  Huntington) ;  but  when 
her  passion  was  past  (as  he  told  me),  she  said  that  though  the  secre 
tary  were  not  her  frrend,  yet  she  must  say  that  he  was  an  expert, 
wise  man,  a  maintainer  of  all  good  laws  for  the  government  of  this 
realm,  and  a  faithful  servant  to  his  mistress;  wishing  it  might  be  her 
luck  to  get  the  friendship  of  so  wise  a  man.  Sir,  I  durst  take  upon 
my  death  to  justify  what  manner  of  man  Sir  William  Cecill  is,  but  I 
know  not  whence  this  opinion  proceeds.  The  living  God  preserve 
her  life  long  whom  you  serve  in  singleness  of  heart  and  make  all  her 
desired  successors  to  become  her  predecessors. 

"But  if  I,  which  in  the  sight  of  God  bear  the  Queen's  Majesty  a 
natural  love,  beside  my  bounden  duty,  might  give  advice,  there  should 
very  few  subjects  in  this  land  have  access  to,  or  conference  with  this 
lady ;  for  besides  that  she  is  a  goodly  personage  (and  yet  in  truth 
not  comparable  with  our  sovereign),  she  hath  withal  an  alluring 
grace,  a  pretty  Scottish  speech,  and  a  searching  wit,  clouded  by 


50  MARY    QUEEN    OF    SCOTS. 

mildness.  Fame  might  move  some  to  relieve  her,  and  glory,  joined 
to  gain,  might  stir  others  to  adventure  much  for  her  sake  ;  then  joy 
is  a  lively  infective  sense,  and  carrieth  many  persuasions  to  the  heart 
which  ruleth  all  the  rest.  Mine  own  affection  by  seeing  the  Queen's 
Majesty  our  sovereign  is  doubled,  and  thereby  I  guess  what  sight 
might  work  in  others.  Her  hair  of  itself  is  black,  and  yet,  Mr. 
Knollys  told  me  that  she  wears  hair  of  sundry  colors.  In  looking 
upon  her  cloth  of  estate  I  noticed  this  sentence  embroidered  :  '  En 
ma  fin  est  mon  commencement,'  which  is  a  riddle  I  understand  not. 
The  greatest  personage  in  house  about  her  is  the  Lord  of  Living 
ston,  and  the  lady  his  wife,  which  is  a  fair  gentlewoman,  and,  it  was 
told  me,  both  Protestants  ;  she  hath  nine  women  more,  fifty  persons  in 
liousehold,  with  ten  horses.  The  Bishop  of  Ross  lay  then  three  miles 
off,  in  a  town  called  Burton-upon-Trent,  with  another  Scottish  lord 
whose  name  I  have  forgotten.  My  Lord  Shrewsbury  is  very  careful 
of  his  charge,  but  the  Queen  overwatches  them  all,  for  it  is  one  of  the 
clock  at  least,  every  night,  ere  she  go  to  bed.  The  next  morning  I 
was  up  timely,  and  viewing  the  seat  of  the  house,  which  in  mine  opi 
nion  stands  much  like  Windsor.  I  espied  two  halberd-men  without  the 
castle-wall,  searching  underneath  the  Queen's  bed-chamber  window. 

"  Thus  have  I  troubled  your  honour  with  rehearsal  of  this  long  col 
loquy  happened  between  the  Queen  of  Scots  and  me,  and  yet  had  I 
rather  in  mine  own  fancy  and  adventure  thus  to  encumber  you  than 
leave  it  unreported,  as  near  as  my  memory  could  serve  me,  though  the 
greatest  part  of  our  communication  was  in  the  presence  of  my  Lord  of 
Shrewsbury  and  Mr.  Harry  Knollys.  Praying  you  to  bear  writh  me 
therein  among  the  number  of  those  that  load  you  with  long,  frivolous, 
letters,  and  so  I  humbly  take  my  leave,  awaiting  an  easterly  wind. 

"  From  Westehester,  the  26th  of  February.  All  these  countries 
which  I  have  past,  from  London  to  this  sea-bank,  live  in  great  wealth 
and  quietness,  each  man  increasing  his  own  and  no  degree  dare 
offend  the  law.  They  pray  for  the  Queen  with  an  universal  voice, 
and  that  peace  may  continue.  Here  is  a  faction  in  Cheshire,  between 
Sir  Hugh  Chamley  and  Sir  Edward  Titton,  which  hath  made  some 


MAKV    QUEEN    OF    SCOTS.  5J 

division.     1  would  have  written  to  my  Lord  of  Leycester  but  that 
this  messenger  could  not  stay. 

"  Your  Honor's  assuredly  to  command. 

"N.  WHITE." 

The  pen  of  Master  Nicholas  White  paints  well :  and  by  presenting 
so  lively  a  representation  of  the  manners,  habits  of  life,  and  mode  of 
speaking  and  thinking  of  the  unfortunate  Mary,  makes  all  the  world 
his  debtor.  Though  a  crafty  and  cruel  courtier,  he  yet  must  be  ad 
mired  as  an  honest  chronicler;  one,  who  if  so  quick  sighted  to  attrac 
tions  whose  display  he  deemed  it  his  duty  to  advise  should  be  as 
circumscribed  as  possible,  would,  it  may  be  presumed,  had  he  occu 
pied  a  station  in  which  free  agency  had  been  less  fatal  to  his  own 
immediate  interests,  have  advocated  her  cause  with  all  the  zeal  and 
sophistry  which  he  brings  to  bear  against  it  in  his  letter  to  Cecil. 
How  repugnant  he  must  have  been  to  her,  armed  with  such  argu 
ments  and  consolations  as  those  he  professes  to  have  used,  may  be 
well  imagined  :  and  should  he  have  proceeded  so  far  in  his  discourse 
when  in  her  presence,  as  he  has  in  his  letter,  wherein  he  compares 
the  situation  of  Tutbury  Castle,  the  most  execrable  of  all  her 
prisons,*  to  that  of  the  chosen  seat  of  English  royalty — Windsor, 
she  must  have  formed  most  unpleasurablc  ideas  of  that  celebrated 
abode.  In  corroboration  of  Mary's  own  account  of  her  assiduity 
with  the  '•  Nydill,"  the  following  account  contains  a  description  of 
what  was  probably  the  very  piece  of  work  which  then  occupied  her 
time  and  attention.  It  is  given  by  the  Bishop  of  Eoss  in  his  exami 
nation  relative  to  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  before  the  council  in  1571 : 

"  The  said  Examinate  sayeth,  that  on  the  Tuesday  before  the 
Duke  went  to  Kenninghall,  after  supper,  about  seven  of  the  clock, 
Lyggons  met  him  at  the  great  gate  of  Howard  House  by  appoint 
ment,  and  conducted  him  by  the  back  court  of  the  house,  and  brought 
him  into  the  gallery  next  the  churchyard,  at  which  time  the  Duke 


*  Sixteen  years  afterwards  she  again  was  incarcerated  in  this  dreadful  place,  whose  hor 
rors  she  describes  in  a  letter  to  her  ambassador  Mauvissiere. 


52  MARY    QUEEN    OF    SCOTS. 

was  in  liis  bed-chamber,  as  Lyggons  said,  with  the  Lord  Lumley,  and 
so  tarrying  awhile,  till  the  Lord  Lumley  was  gone,  the  Duke  came 
into  the  said  gallery  to  this  Examinate;  the  cause  of  this  Examinate's 
coming,  was,  for  that  .Robinson  had  brought  to  the  Duke  a  token 
from  the  Queen  of  Scots ;  which,  as  he  remembereth,  was  a  ring,  and 
delivered  the  same  without  any  letter  before  this  Examinate  knew 
thereof,  before  which  time  Bortycke  brought  a  cushion,  wrought  with 
the  Scots'  Queen's  own  arms,  and  a  device  upon  it  with  this  sentence  : 
Virescit  Yulnere  Virtus,  and  a  hand  with  a  knife  cutting  down  the 
Vines  as  they  use  in  the  spring-time.  All  which  work  was  made  by 
the  Scots'  Queen's  OWTII  hands." 

During  sixteen  years  that  Queen  Mary  remained  under  the  charge 
of  the  Earl  of  Shrewsbury  at  his  various  castles  and  manors,  that  of 
Chatsworth  seems  to  have  been  one  where  the  restrictions  of  her 
captivity  were  less  rigidly  enforced  than  elsewhere.  The  exquisite 
scenery  by  which  it  is  surrounded,  the  conventual  stillness  which 
yet  seems  to  linger  around  the  moated  tower*  she  occupied,  recall  the 
time,  when,  gazing  through  its  strongly  barred  loop-holes,  she  pined 
for  other  scenes,  which  memory  rendered  more  dear,  and  imagina 
tion  more  beautiful,  in  that  beloved  France,  she  was  never  more  to 
behold.  Perchance  the  following  lines  may  be  somewhat  after  the 
fashion  of  wThat  then  formed  a  part  of  her  meditations : 


QUEEN  MARY'S  REVERIE. 


OST,  lost  for  ever  !    ah,  why  did  I  leave  thee  ? 

France  !    lovely  land  !   I  shall  see  thee  no  more. 
Oh  !    for  some  hand  a  bright  garland  to  weave  me, 

Such  as  in  childhood  delighted  I  wore. 

*  Still  called  Queen  Mary's  Bower. 


MA11Y    QUEEN    OF    SCOTS.  53 

II. 

When  to  the  light  tambourine  gaily  bounding, 

Amongst  the  fair  maidens  and  youths  of  Tonraine, 

Through  the  sweet  air  our  glad  voices  resounding, 
Blithely  we  danced  o'er  the  vine-covered  plain  ; 


Waking  the  echoes  that  rang  from  the  mountain, 
Feasting  like  fairies  beneath  the  green  shade, 

Crowned  with  fresh  lilies  just  plucked  from  the  fountain, 
Murm'ring  in  music,  as  onward  it  strayed. 

IV. 

France  !    lovely  garden  !    my  treasures  enshrining, 

The  living — the  dead — the  bright  hopes  that  I  mourn, 

Come  in  my  dreams — in  thy  beauty  still  shining, 
Give  back  the  years  that  will  never  return. 


Home  of  my  youth  !    to  thy  bosom  for  ever, 

Fain  would  I  fly,  from  this  sorrow  and  pain  : 
Fare  thee  well  !    fare  thcc  well  !    never,  oh  never  ! 

Land  of  my  heart  !    shall  I  see  thee  again. 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  effect  of  the  beautiful  scenery  of 
Chatsworth  upon  the  mind  of  the  imprisoned  Queen,  (and  who  may 
truly  tell  its  influence  on  one  whose  sensibilities  were  so  acute,  and 
whose  retrospect  was  so  stormy  and  agitating  ?)  it  is  not  too  much  to 
suppose  that  here,  if  not  actually  happy,  she  at  times  must  have  been 
beguiled  of  her  sorrows,  since,  in  addition  to  the  exercise  of  the 
feminine  accomplishments  of  music  and  embroidery,  to  both  of  which 
she  devoted  so  much  time,  and  in  which  she  so  greatly  excelled,  she 
read  much,  was  (at  one  period)  permitted  short  excursions  on  horse 
back,  partook  also,  sometimes,  in  the  pleasures  of  hunting  and  hawk 
ing,  and,  above  all,  it  was  here,  that  her  desolate  heart,  so  cruelly 
debarred  from  all  communication  with  her  own  child,  found  a  pure 


54.  QUEEN    MARY    TO    BESS    PIERREPONT. 

and  innocent  object  on  which  to  lavish  its  tenderest  affection,  in  the 
person  of  the  infant  daughter  of  Sir  Henry  Pierrepont,  who  had 
married  Elizabeth  Cavendish,  one  of  the  daughters  of  the  Countess 
of  Shrewsbury  by  her  former  marriage. 

On  this  little  adopted  child,  "  Besse  Perpoynt,"  Queen  Mary 
bestowed  all  the  devoted  and  unselfish  fondness  of  a  mother,  having 
as  she  herself  says,  in  a  letter  from  Chartley  to  Morgan,  written  little 
more  than  six  months  before  her  murder,  "  brought  her  up  my  bed 
fellow,  and  at  board  ever  sithence  she  had  four  years  of  age,  so  care 
fully  and  virtuously  I  trust,  as  if  she  had  been  my  own  daughter." 
That  she  entirely  so  regarded  her,  is  delightfully  evidenced  in  the 
following  letter  : 

QUEEN  MARY'S  LETTER  TO  HER   ADOPTED   DAUGHTER, 
BESS  PIERREPONT. 

13  SEPTEMBER. 

ARLING,  I  have  received  your  letter  and  pretty 
presents,  for  which  I  thank  you.  I  am  very 
glad  you  are  so  wrell ;  remain  with  your  father 
and  mother  freely  this  season,  as  they  wish 
to  keep  you,  for  the  climate  and  season  are  so 
disagreeable  here,  that  I  am  already  very 
sensible  of  the  change  of  the  air  of  Worksop, 
where  I  had  not  gone  again,  but  I  am  not  suffered  to  command  my 
legs.  Eemember  me  to  your  father  and  mother  very  kindly,  and  to 
your  sister,  and  to  all  my  acquaintances  if  there  are  any  there.  I  shall 
cause  your  black  dress  to  be  made,  and  sent  to  you  there,  as  soon  as  I 
have  the  trimming,  for  which  I  have  written  to  London.  This  is  all 
which  I  can  write  to  you  at  present,  except  to  send  you  as  many  bless 
ings  as  there  are  days  in  the  year.  Praying  God  that  his,  may  be 
extended  over  you  and  yours  forever.  In  haste,  this  13th  September, 
Your  very  affectionate  mistress  and  best  friend, 

MAKIE  R. 

Addressed  :     To  my  well  beloved  bedfellow, 
BESS  PIERPONT. 


BESS  PIERREPOXT. 


ORN  shines  on  Chatsworth's  wide  domain, 
Its  wooded  heights,  and  fertile  plain, 

And  harvests  waving  low  ; 
On  river,  mead,  and  mountain  side, 
Within  whose  caves  rieh  treasures  bide, 

And  sunless  fountains  flow. 


ii. 

Gilding  with  fairy  hues  the  lawn, 
Where  sporting  with  a  spotted  fawn 

A  lovely  child  is  seen — 
The  young  "  Bess  Pierrepont,"  fondly  styled, 
The  "  Darling  "  and  adopted  child 

Of  the  fair  Scottish  Queen. 

in. 

Lightly  with  youth's  elastic  bound, 
She  flies  along  the  dcw-sprent  ground, 

By  her  swift  fawn  pursued : 
Through  hawthorn-glade  and  covert  dim, 
Where  wood-birds  sing  their  matin-hymn 

In  leafy  solitude. 

IV. 

Flowers  of  the  field — herself  as  fair — 
The  simple  child  winds  in  her  hair, 

In  long  fantastic  strings  ; 
Drinks  with  her  fawn  from  brook  or  rill, 
Both  imaged  in  the  mirror  still, 

While  bird-like  thus  she  sings : 


56 


LESS    PIEBREPONTS    SONG. 


BESS  PIERREPONT'S   SONG. 


HE  dappled  deer  peep  glancingly, 
And  nut-brown  squirrels  climb 
Where  blossomed  boughs  move  dancingly, 
In  the  sweet  summer-time. 

Who  would  not  be  a  squirrel  free, 
In  the  sweet  summer-time  ? 


The  small  bird  singeth  merrily  ; 

The  bee  hums  o'er  the  thyme  ; 
And  every, insect,  cheerily, 
Chirps  blithe  in  summer-time. 

Who  would  not  be  a  bird  or  bee, 
In  the  sweet  summer-time  ? 


L 


The  rich  red  rose  blooms  lovingly, 

With  lilies  in  their  prime  ; 
AVhere  honeysuckles  lovingly, 
About  the  lattice  climb. 

Who  would  not  be  a  red  rose  tree, 
In  the  sweet  summer-time? 


BESS    PIERREPOXT.  ^ 

Unfortunate  in  all  things,  the  affection  so  abundantly  lavished  on 
this  lovely  child,  was  finally  changed  into  bitterness,  on  account  (as 
would  appear  from  De  Chateauneuf 's  Memorial)  of  an  attachment 
between  Nau,  the  Secretary  of  the  Queen,  and  her  young  charge, 
which,  though  countenanced  by  the  father  of  the  latter,  did  not  re 
ceive  the  sanction  of  her  benefactress. 

Coldly  and  bitterly  she  writes  to  Morgan,  27  July,  1586  :  "But 
to  be  plaine  with  you,  I  would  be  the  rather  quit  of  her,  for  that  I  see 
too  much  of  her  grandmother's  nature  in  her  behaviour  every  way, 
notwithstanding  all  my  paines  for  the  contrary,  and  therefore  now  I 
would  be  sorry  to  have  her  bestowed  on  any  man  that  I  wish  good 
unto."  Continually  throughout  her  life,  Mary  was  destined  to  feel 
the  sharp  tooth  of  ingratitude— in  this  instance  sharper  than  a  ser 
pent's  sting. 

In  the  same  letter  she  adds  :  "  I  thank  you  for  your  advertisements 
given  out  of  my  death,  to  take  heed  it  be  not  hastened  by  indirect  or 
extraordinary  means,  and  so  I  will,  by  the  grace  of  God,  who,  I  praise 
him  continually,  hath  not  yet  set  me  so  low  but  that  I  am  able  to 
handle  my  crossbow  for  killing  of  a  deer,  and  to  gallop  after  the 
hounds  on  horseback,  as  this  afternoon  I  intend  to  do  within  the  limits 
of  this  park,  and  could  otherwhere  if  it  were  permitted." —  Vide 
Murdirfs  State  Papers. 


F  all  the  sorrows  experienced  by  the  ill-fated 
Queen  of  Scots,  that  of  being  separated  from 
her  young  son  was  felt  most  acutely.  The 
knowledge  that  her  only  child,  in  addition  to 
the  circumstance  of  being  for  ever  debarred 
from  her  sight,  would  also  be  brought  up  to  re 
gard  her  as  unworthy  of  his  love  and  respect, 
was  a  continual  source  of  anguished  disquiet— 
an  ever  bleeding  wound,  to  which  time  could  bring  no  cure.  Her 
passionate  longings  to  clasp  him  to  her  heart,  her  touching  appeals 
to  be  permitted  to  see  him,  even  to  hear  of  his  health  and  welfare, 
draw  poor  Mary,  royal  Queen  though  she  be,  close  to  every  mo- 


MAIIY    QUKKN    OF    SCOTS.  59 

ther's  heart,  however  Inmible.  Had  Queen  Elizabeth  ever  experi 
enced  the  sacred  emotions  that  accompany  the  maternal  character, 
she  would  not,  perhaps,  have  so  cruelly  outraged  them,  or  sub 
jected  her  unhappy  kinswoman  to  the  tortures  which  her  obduracy 
so  remorselessly  inflicted  ;  but  like  the  Scottish  rebel  lords,  the 
accusers  and  traducers  of  their  unfortunate  sovereign,  she  appears  to 
have  been  utterly  devoid  of  pity,  or  even  common  humanity,  and 
viewed  in  the  character  she  assumed  to  the  Queen  of  Scots,  more 
like  a  monster,  than  a  being  with  a  woman's  lieart. 

As  to  the  traitors  whom  she  so  openly  befriended,  there  is  visible 
from  first  to  last,  the  hardened  audacity  and  grovelling  baseness 
which  shrink  from  no  crime,  however  great,  so  long  as  means  can  be 
found  to  commit  it  with  impunity,  while  at  the  same  time  it  fears  to 
confront  the  victim  it  aims  to  destroy.  So  conscious  were  they  how 
speedily  the  whole  fabric  of  their  deception  would  crumble  beneath 
the  touch  of  Truth,  that  they  dreaded  nothing  so  much  as  the  presence 
of  their  belied  and  injured  Queen.  In  vain  did  she  demand  to  be 
confronted  with  them.  The  request  was  haughtily  refused — and  a 
right  now  granted  to  the  meanest  criminal,  wTas  denied  to  the  Queen 
of  Scotland. 

No  royal  personage,  either  of  ancient  or  modern  times,  has  ever 
displayed  more  heroic  fortitude  under  the  pressure  of  adversity,  than 
this  injured  princess.  Firm  in  the  maintenance  of  her  rights,  her 
spirit  was  truly  royal,  enabling  her  in  the  most  critical  emergencies, 
amidst  scenes  which  might  well  have  appalled  the  stoutest  heart, 
ever  to  rise  superior  to  the  occasion.  It  is  this  loftiness  of  mind, 
even  more  than  her  beauty  or  misfortunes,  which  makes  the  memory 
of  Mary  of  Scotland  dear,  and  her  sufferings  mourned ;  the  same  high 
quality,  which  triumphing  over  the  utmost  malevolence  of  fate,  gave 
to  an  ignominious  death,  with  all  its  attendant  circumstances  of 
degradation  and  horror,  the  solemnity  of  a  martyrdom.  In  that 
awful  hour,  the  prophetic  motto  u  En  ma  fin  est  mon  commence 
ment,"  was  amply  fulfilled,  and  the  honor  and  dignity  of  its  owner 
nobly  sustained  by  herself  alone. 

It  has  been  the  generous  task  of  some  of  the  brightest  and  most 


60  MARY    QUEEN    OF    SCOTS. 

intelligent  minds  of  the  present  age,  to  remove  from  the  character 
of  this  injured  princess,  the  foul  aspersions,  which  too  long  had  been 
allowed  to  rest  upon  it,  and  by  none  has  it  been  more  ably  and  suc 
cessfully  vindicated,  than  by  Miss  Strickland,  who,  with  the  intellect 
of  a  man,  and  the  delicate  perceptions  and  feelings  of  a  woman,  has 
grappled  with  the  clouded  and  distorted  facts  of  Mary's  history,  and 
with  an  array  of  evidence  which  must  carry  conviction  even  to  the 
most  sceptical,  has  not  only  most  ably  refuted  the  dark  calumnies 
which  the  malignity  and  power  of  the  enemies  of  that  unfortunate 
princess,  had  so  widely  diffused,  and  which,  permitted  for  ages  to 
pass  current,  had  become  almost  historical  facts,  against  which  there 
seemed  no  appeal ;  but  has  brought  forward  numerous  instances  of 
purity  of  purpose,  and  goodness  of  heart,  utterly  incompatible  with 
the  character  of  the  cold-blooded  and  artful  murderess  her  accusers 
endeavoured  to  represent  her. 

In  the  fourth  volume  of  Miss  Strickland's  Life  of  Queen  Mary,  is 
an  autograph  letter  from  the  Countess  of  Lenox,  the  mother  of 
Darnley,  written  to  Mary  when  the  latter  was  a  prisoner  in  England. 
It  is  couched  in  the  most  affectionate  terms,  and  is  of  itself  sufficient 
to  prove  her  innocent  of  the  crime  of  Darnley 's  murder,  since,  had 
she  been  guilty  of  it,  it  is  impossible  that  his  mother  could  so  have 
written.  This  letter,  is  in  itself  a  host  against  the  atrocious  slan 
ders,  so  unsparingly  heaped  upon  the  Queen  while  a  prisoner  in 
England,  one  of  those  atoning  proofs  which  Providence  so  often 
reveals,  to  right  the  innocent.  Probably  others  are  yet  in  store,  but 
be  that  as  it  may,  it  is  scarcely  possible  to  desire  a  deeper  sym 
pathy  than  the  knowledge  of  her  unmerited  sufferings  has  already 
awakened. 

Even  the  barbarity  which  could  permit  her  mangled  corpse  to 
remain  for  six  months  unburied,  in  the  state  in  which  it  came  from 
the  scaffold  (when  it  was  thrown  into  a  rude  box,  and  with  no  cover 
ing  save  a  ragged  cloth,  hastily  torn  from  an  old  billiard  table,  was 
consigned  to  a  neglected  chamber  in  Fotheringhay,)  has  not  been 
without  its  uses,  serving  more  highly  to  enhance  the  interest  felt  for 
the  victim,  and  to  evidence  in  the  most  painful  and  revolting  man- 


MARY    QUEEN    OF    SCOTS.  (Jl 

ner  not  only  the  characters  of  the  principals  in  this  transaction,  but 
that  of  the  age  in  which  it  could  be  permitted. 

As  regards  the  disposal  of  Mary's  remains,  the  remonstrances  of 
her  faithful  servants  at  length  procured  their  removal  to  Peterbo 
rough  Cathedral,  and  on  the  accession  of  James  to  the  crown  of  Eng 
land,  their  final  deposit  in  the  proudest  sanctuary  of  England's  dead, 
beneath  a  monument  equal  in  grandeur  to  that  of  the  hard-hearted 
Queen  who  had  so  remorselessly  persecuted  her  through  life  ;  had 
inflicted  upon  her  a  traitor's  death  ;  and  as  much  as  possible  pursued 
her  revenge  beyond  the  grave. 

Whoever  lias  visited  Westminster  Abbey,  cannot  fail  to  have  been 
deeply  impressed  by  the  sight  of  these  two  royal  tombs  ;  the  most 
stately  and  magnificent  that  human  art  could  conceive  or  execute,  sepa 
rated  but  a  few  paces  from  each  other;  and  having  on  their  summits 
the  beautifully  sculptured  statues  of  their  respective  occupants,  each 
in  the  attitude  of  calm  repose,  regally  robed  and  crowned — the 
sceptre  and  globe  in  either  hand — surrounded  by  all  the  insignia  of 
royalty.  Nor  can  he  fail  to  have  noticed  the  difference  of  feeling 
manifested  by  the  spectators  continually  passing  by  them.  The  cold 
looks  f  curiosity  alone,  which  are  bestowed  upon  that  of  Queen 
Elizabeth,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  the  close  inspection,  the  oft  re 
turning  step,  the  pitying  expressions,  sighs,  and  sometimes  tears, 
which  form  the  spontaneous  tribute  to  that  of  Mary  Queen  of 
Scots. 

No  preacher  is  needed  there  to  tell  the  vanity  and  nothingness 
of  earthly  things.  The  stones  are  sufficiently  eloquent. 


QUEEN    ELIZABETH    AND    HER    COURTIERS. 


INCIDENTS    AND    CHARACTERISTIC    TRAITS   OF 
QUEEX    ELIZABETH    AND    HER    COURTIERS. 

F  Elizabeth's  manners  and  conversation,  as 
well  as  many  interesting  particulars   con 
cerning  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  Melville,  her 
ambassador  at  the  court  of  England,  has  trans 
mitted  the  following  entertaining  description  : 
"  Elizabeth  expressed  great   desire  to  sec 
Queen  Mary  :  and  as  that  could  not  be  easily 
managed,  appeared  to  take  great  delight  in 


a  picture  of  her  sister  of  Scotland.  She  took 
me  to  her  own  bed-chamber  and  opened  a  little  cabinet  wherein 
were  divers  little  pictures,  wrapped  within  paper,  and  their  names 
written  with  her  own  hand  upon  the  papers.  Upon  the  first  that 
she  took  up  was  written  'My  Lord's  picture.'  I  held  the  candle,  and 
pressed  to  see  the  picture  so  named.  She  appeared  loth  to  let  me  see 
it,  yet  my  importunity  prevailed  for  a  sight  thereof,  and  I  found  it  to 
be  the  Earl  of  Leicester's  picture.  I  desired  that  I  might  have  it  to 
carry  home  to  my  queen,  which  she  refused,  alleging  that  she  had 
but  that  one  picture  of  his.  I  said,  Your  majesty  hath  here  the  ori 
ginal  ;  for  I  perceived  him  at  the  farthest  part  of  the  chamber,  speak 
ing  with  Secretary  Cecill.  Then  she  took  out  the  Queeirs  picture 
and  kissed  it,  and  I  adventured  to  kiss  her  hand  for  the  great  love 
evinced  therein  to  my  mistress.  She  shewed  me  also  a  fair  ruby,  as 
great  as  a  tennis  ball :  I  desired  that  she  would  send  either  it,  or 
my  Lord  of  Leicester's  picture  as  a  token  to  my  Queen.  She  said 
that  if  the  Queen  would  follow  her  counsel,  she  would  in  process  of 
time  get  all  that  she  had  ;  that  in  the  meantime  she  was  resolved  in 
a  token  to  send  her  with  me  a  fair  diamond.  Growing  late,  she  ap 
pointed  eight  the  next  morning  as  the  time  to  see  her  again,  when 
she  was  accustomed  to  walk  in  the  garden."  On  meeting  again  they 


QUEEN    ELIZABETH    AND    HER    COURTIERS.  (33 

spoke  of  die  customs  of  foreign  countries,  the  buskins*  of  the  women 
were  not  forgot,  and  he  was  asked  "  what  country's  weed  or  dress  he 
thought  most  becoming  gentlewomen?  The  Queen  said  she  had 
clothes  of  every  sort,  which  every  day  thereafter,  so  long  as  I  was 
there,  she  changed.  One  day  she  had  the  English  weed,  another  the 
French,  another  the  Italian,  and  so  forth;  she  asked  me  which  of  them 
became  her  best?  I  answered,  in  my  judgement,  the  Italian  dress  ; 
which  answer,  I  found,  pleased  her  well ;  for  she  delighted  to  show  her 
golden-colored  hair,  wearing  a  caul  and  bonnet  as  they  do  in  Italy. 
Her  hair,  rather  reddish  than  yellow,  curled  in  appearance  naturally. 
She  desired  to  know  of  me  what  colour  of  hair  was  reputed  best,  and 
which  of  them  too  was  fairest  ?  I  answered,  the  fairness  of  them  both 
was  not  their  worst  faults ;  but  she  was  earnest  with  me  to  declare 
which  of  them  I  judged  fairest.  I  said  she  was  the  fairest  Queen 
in  England,  and  mine  in  Scotland  ;  yet  she  appeared  earnest.  I 
answered  they  were  botli  the  fairest  ladies  in  their  countries :  that 
her  Majesty  was  whiter,  but  my  Queen  was  very  lovely.  She  en 
quired  which  of  them  was  of  the  highest  stature  ?  I  said  my  Queen. 
Then  saith  she,  she  is  too  high  ;  for  I  myself  am  neither  too  high  nor 
too  low.  Then  she  asked  what  exercises  she  used  ?  I  answered,  that 
when  I  received  my  dispatch  the  Queen  was  lately  come  from  the 
Highland  hunting ;  that  when  her  more  serious  affairs  permitted, 
she  was  taken  up  with  reading  of  histories ;  that  sometimes  she  re 
created  herself  with  the  lute  and  virginals.  She  asked  if  she  played 
well?  I  said  reasonably  for  a  queen. 

"  That  same  day,  after  dinner,  my  Lord  of  Hunsdon  drew  me  to  a 
quiet  gallery,  that  I  might  hear  some  music ;  but  he  said  he  durst 
not  know  it,  where  I  might  hear  the  queen  play  upon  the  virginals. 
After  I  had  hearkened  awhile,  I  put  by  the  tapestry  that  hung  before 
the  door  of  the  chamber,  and  seeing  her  back  was  towards  the  door, 
I  entered  within  the  chamber  and  stood  a  pretty  space,  hearing  her 
play  excellently  well;  but  she  left  off  immediately  so. soon  as  she 
turned  about  and  saw  me.  She  appeared  to  be  surprised  to  see  me, 

*  This  word  docs  not  here  menu  shoes — but  the  general  style  of  female  adornment. 


Q±  QUEEN  ELIZABETH  AND  HER  COUKTIEB8. 

and  came  forward,  seeming  to  strike  me  with  her  hand ;  alleging 
that  she  used  not  to  play  before  men,  but  when  she  was  solitary  to 
shun  melancholy.  She  asked  me  how  I  came  there  ?  I  answered, 
as  I  was  walking  with  my  Lord  of  Hunsdon,  as  we  passed  by  the  cham 
ber  door  I  heard  such  melody  as  ravished  me,  whereby  I  was  drawn 
in  ere  I  knew  how,  excusing  my  fault  of  homeliness,  as  being 
brought  up  in  the  court  of  France,  where  such  freedom  was  allowed, 
declaring  myself  willing  to  endure  what  kind  of  punishment  her 
majesty  should  be  pleased  to  inflict  upon  me  for  so  great  an  offence. 

"  Then  she  sat  down  low  upon  a  cushion,  and  I  upon  my  knees  by 
her ;  but  with  her  own  hand  she  gave  me  a  cushion  to  lay  under  my 
knee,  which  at  first  I  refused,  but  she  compelled  me  to  take  it.  She 
then  called  for  my  Lady  Strafford  out  of  the  next  chamber,  for  the 
Queen  was  alone.  She  inquired  whether  my  Queen  or  she  played 
best?  In  that  I  found  myself  obliged  to  give  her  the  praise.  She 
said  my  French  was  very  good,  and  asked  if  I  could  speak  Italian, 
which  she  spoke  reasonably  well.  I  told  her  majesty  I  had  no  time 
to  learn  the  language,  not  having  been  above  two  months  in  Italy. 
Then  she  spake  to  me  in  Dutch  (German),  which  was  not  good,  and 
woidd  know  what  kind  of  books  I  most  delighted  in,  whether  theo 
logy,  history,  or  love  matters  ?  I  said  I  liked  well  of  all  the  sorts. 

u  Here  I  took  occasion  to  press  earnestly  my  dispatch.  She  said  I 
was  sooner  weary  of  her  company  than  she  was  of  mine.  I  told 
her  majesty  that  though  I  had  no  reason  of  being  weary,  I  knew 
my  mistress's  affairs  called  me  home.  Yet  I  was  stayed  two  days 
longer,  that  I  might  see  her  dance,  as  I  was  afterwards  informed ; 
which  being  over,  she  inquired  of  me  whether  she  or  my  Queen 
danced  best?  I  answered,  the  Queen  danced  not  so  high  or  dis- 
posedly  as  she  did.  Then  again,  she  wished  that  she  might  see  the 
Queen  at  some  convenient  place  of  meeting.  I  offered  to  convey 
her  secretly  to  Scotland  by  post,  clothed  like  a  page  ;  that  under  this 
disguise  she  might  see  the  Queen,  as  James  Y.  had  gone  in  disguise 
with  his  own  ambassador,  to  see  the  Duke  of  Yendome's  sister,  who 
should  have  been  his  wife ;  telling  her  that  her  chamber  might  be 
kept  in  her  absence  as  though  she  were  sick.  That  none  need  be 


QUEEN    ELIZABETH    AND    HER    COUBTIEES.  (J5 

privy  thereto  except  Lady  Strafford  and  one  of  the  grooms  of  her 
chamber.  She  appeared  to  like  that  kind  of  language ;— only  an 
swered  it  with  a  sigh,  saying,  <  Alas  !  if  I  might  do  it  thus.'  " 

Leicester  being  appointed  to  convey  Melville  from  Hampton 
Court  to  London,  took  occasion  to  inquire  what  the  Queen  of  Scotland 
thought  of  him  for  a  husband  ?  Melville,  according  to  the  commands 
of  his  mistress,  answered  coldly  and  warily  ;  when  Leicester  disclaim 
ed  all  idea  of  aiming  to  marry  so  great  a  Queen. 

Accustomed  during  her  long  reign  to  a  continual  series  of  courtly 
display,  magnificent  pageants,  and  grand  ceremonies,  amidst  whicli, 
like  a  presiding  goddess,  she  graciously  received  the  inflated  adulation 
of  her  courtiers,  and  the  almost  equally  servile  homage  of  all  who  ap 
proached  her,  it  cannot  be  surprising  if  in  her  latter  years  she  became 
jealously  susceptible  on  every  point  which  might  make  her  to  be 
considered  as  no  longer  capable  of  enjoying  the  pleasures  of  youth, 
together  with  those  monstrous  flatteries  whicli  long  use  had  rendered 
absolutely  necessary  to  her,  still  less  can  it  be  wondered  at,  that  by 
every  means  in  her  power  she  endeavoured  to  conceal  the  ravages  of 
time  under  an  assumed  appearance  of  youthful  vigour  and  hilarity. 
Her  interview  with  Sir  Roger  Aston,  groom  of  the  chamber  to 
James  I.,  is  thus  described  by  Weldon. 

"  I  must  not  pass  over  one  pretty  passage,  I  have  heard  himself 
relate ;  that  he  did  never  come  to  deliver  any  letter  from  his  master, 
but  ever  he  was  placed  in  the  lobby,  the  hangings  being  turned  him 
where  he  might  see  the  Queen  dancing  to  a  little  fiddle,  which  was 
to  no  other  end  than  that  he  should  tell  his  master  by  her  youthful 
disposition  how  likely  he  was  to  come  to  the  crown  he  so  much 
thirsted  for;  for  you  must  understand  the  wisest  in  that  kingdom  did 
believe  the  king  should  never  enjoy  this  crown  as  long  as  there  was 
an  old  wife  in  England,  which  they  did  believe  was  ever  set  up  as 
the  other  was  dead." 


QUEEN    ELIZABETH    AND    11E11    COURTIERS. 


Her  majesty  is  represented  in  the  engraving  as  performing  some 
difficult  passage  in  one  of  the  courtly  dances  of  the  period — probably 
the  "  Lavolta,"  a  dance  of  Italian  origin  then  much  practised,  and 
which  required  that  union  of  majesty,  grace,  and  dexterity,  which 
under  the  management  of  Elizabeth  would  naturally  assume  that 
style  of  dancing  which  Melville  calls  "  high  and  disposedly.'1  "The 
more  nimble  "  Coranto,"  or  lively  u  Brawl,"  would  not  have  so  well 
afforded  an  opportunity  of  displaying  herself  in  a  queenly  manner  to 
the  eyes  of  an  ambassador  whose  good  report  she  was  so  anxious  to 
obtain.  The  "  Pavon "  is  said  to  have  been  Queen  Elizabeth's 
favorite  dance — A  solemn  and  graceful  series  of  evolutions,  wherein 
the  Lady  taking  the  Peacock  for  her  model,  exhibits  her  charms  and 
graces  with  all  those  sweeping  curves  and  lofty  indications  of  pride 
for  which  the  bird  is  remarkable. 


EXTRACTS    FROM   QUEEN    ELIZABETH'S    PRAYER-BOOK. 


EXTRACTS    FROM    QUEEN    ELIZABETH'S    PRAYER-BOOK. 

The  "Turkes"  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  being  objects  of 
most  devout  abhorrence,  were  accordingly  severely  dealt  with  by  all 
good  praying  Christians ;  at  whose  head  the  Emperor  Maximilian  II. 
was  particularly  distinguished.  In  1566,  he  lay  encamped  in  the 
vicinity  of  Raab,  with  the  main  body  of  his  army,  while  they,  un 
der  Solyman,  again  entered  Hungary.  The  battles,  inarches,  and 
countermarches  of  these  formidable  combatants,  formed  in  that  day 
as  fruitful  a  theme  of  interest  as  the  recent  warfare  in  the  Crimea, 
where  the  followers  of  Mahomet  have  redeemed  their  good  name, 
fighting  manfully  under  the  very  banners  which  have  so  often  waved 
victoriously  over  their  conquered  armies,  and  sacked  cities.  Among 
the  marvels  of  three  hundred  years,  it  is  not  one  of  the  least  to  see 
the  disciples  of  "  Barbarous  Mahomet"  taking  their  place  in  the  list 
of  nations  as  close  allies  of  France  and  England — their  ambassadors 
received  with  the  greatest  honours  at  the  courts  of  each,  while  the 
combined  armies  and  fleets  of  Queen  Victoria  I.  of  England,  and 
of  Napoleon  III.,  Emperor  of  France,  are  so  warmly  espousing  their 
quarrel  against  the  powerful  Empire  of  Russia. 

During  the  Elizabethan  reign  the  Catholics  also  held  scarcely  a 
kindlier  place  in  English  estimation  than  the  detested  Turks — in  the 
accompanying  fac-similes  of  "  Queen  Elizabeth's  Prayer-book" 
(printed  1558),  they  are  most  unmercifully  dealt  with  :  the  zeal  of 
fanaticism  burning  with  a  fire  and  faggot  fury  that  is  unmistakeable. 


EXTRACTS    FROM    QUEEN    ELIZABETHS    PEAYER-BOOK. 


Chriftian 


£"f)f a  lagti  it  in  a  tomb 
Jjetntn  outof  tfjerodke 
tofjiretn  teas  nebec 
man  get  laiU. 


In  this  her  government  be  her  gover- 
nour  we  befeech  thee,  fo  ftiall  her  majefty 
ever  govern  us,  if  firft  ihe  be  governed 
by  thee,  Multiply  her  raign  with  many 
daies  and  her  years  with  much  felicity, 
with  aboundance  of  peace,  and  life 
ghoftly,  that  as  me  hath  now  doubled 
the  years  of  her  lifter  and  brother,  fo 
if  it  be  thy  pleafure  me  may  overgrow 
in  raigning  the  raigne  of  her  father. 

And  becaufe  no  government  can  long 
Hand  without  good  counfell,  neither  can 
any  counfell  be  good  except  it  be  prof- 
pered  by  thee,  blefs  therefore,  we  befeech 
thee,  both  her  majefty  and  her  honorable 
counfaile,  that  both  they  rightly  under- 
ftand  what  is  to  be  done,  and  me  accord 
ingly  may  accomplifh  that  they  doe  coun 
fell  to  thy  glory  and  furtherance  of 
the  gofpell  and  public  wealth  of  this 
Realme. 


iuljrn  the  tian;-s 
of  tfjr  purifiration  of 
the  lafco  of  fEosc 


EXTRACTS    FKOM    QUEEN  ELIZABETH'S    PKAYEK-BOOK.  C9 


The  floriflieing  Churches  in  Alia,  the 
learned  Churches  of  Grecia,  the  mani 
fold  Churches  in  Africa,  which  were 
wont  to  ferve  thee,  now  are  gone  from 
thee.  The  feven  churches  of  Afia  with 
their  candleftickes  (whom  thou  didft  fo 
well  forwarne)  are  now  removed. 

All  the  churches  where  thy  diligent 
Apoftlc  St.  Paule,  thy  Apoftle  St.  Peter, 
and  John  and  other  apoflles,  fo  laboriouf- 
ly  travayled  preaching  and  writyng  to 
plant  thy  Gofpell  are  now  gone  from 
thy  Gofpell.  In  all  the  Kyngedome  of 
Syria,  Paleftina,  Arabia,  Perfia,  in  all 
Armenia,  and  the  Empire  of  Cappadocia, 
throughe  the  whole  compafie  of  Afia, 
with  Egypt  and  with  Africa  alfo  (unleffe 
amonge  the  farre  Ethiopians  fome  olde 
fteppes  of  Chriflianity  doe  yet  remaine), 
either  els  in  all  Afia  or  Africa  thy  church?  < 
hathe  not  one  foot  of  free  land. 


aritg  gntrtf)  tirink 
to  tfjc  tfjirstii. 


TO 


EXTRACTS    FROM    QUEEN    ELIZABETH'S    PRAYER-BOOK. 


Cntiurctf)  to  tl)t 


Christian 


Almighty  and  ever  living  God,  our  Heavenly  Father,  we 
thy  difobedient  and  rebellious  children,  now  by  thy  juft  judg 
ment  fore  afflicled,  and  in  great  daunger  to  be  opprefled  by 
thine  and  our  fworn  and  moil  deadly  ennemies,  the  Turkes — 
Infidels  and  Mifcreants — doe  make  humble  fuit  to  the  Throne 
of  thy  Grace  for  thy  mercy  and  ayde  agaynft  the  fame,  our 
mortal  ennemies.  *  *  *  The  Turke  goeth  aboute  to  fet  up, 
to  extol,  and  to  magnify  that  wicked  Monller  and  damned  foul, 
Mahumet.  But  in  thy  great  mercy  fave,  defend  and  deliver 
all  thy  afflicled  Chriftians  in  this  and  all  other  invafions  of 
thefe  Infidels,  and  give  to  the  Emperour  thy  fervaunt,  and  all 
the  Chriflian  army  now  aflembled  with  him,  thy  comfortable 
might  and  courage.  *  *  The  Turke  with  his  fwoxd,  what 
Landes,  what  Nations  and  Countreys,  what  Empires,  Kynge- 
domes  and  Provinces,  with  Cities  innumerable  hathe  he  wonne 
not  from  us,  but  from  Thee.  Where  thy  name  was  wont 
to  be  invocated,  thy  word  preached,  thy  facraments  adminif- 
tered,  there  now  remayneth  barbarous  Mahumet  and  his  filthy 
Alcoran. 


EXTRACTS    FROM    QUEEN    ELIZABETH'S    PRAYER-BOOK. 


71 


Prayers. 


Now  of  Europa  a  great  part  also  is  fhronke  away  from  thy 
Church.  All  thefe  with  lamentable  flaughter  of  Chriftian 
bloud  is  wafted,  and  all  become  Turkes.  Only  a  little  angle 
of  the  Weft  partes  yet  remayneth  in  fome  profeflion  of  thy 
name.  But  here  (alacke)  cometh  another  mifchief,  as  great, 
or  greater,  than  the  other.  For  the  Turke  with  his  fworde 
is  not  fo  cruell,  but  the  Byfhopp  of  Rome  on  the  other  fide 
is  more  fierce  and  bitter  againft  us.  Styrringe  up  his  Byfhopps 
to  burne  us,  his  confederates  to  confpyre  our  deftrudion,  fet- 
tynge  Kynges  agaynft  their  fubjeds,  and  fubjedes  difloyally 
to  rebcll  agaynft  their  Princes. 

They  which  be  frendes  and  lovers  of  the  Byfhopp  of 
Rome,  although  they  eat  the  fat  of  the  land,  and  have  the 
beft  preferments  and  offices,  that  live  moft  at  eafe  and  ayle 
nothing  ;  yet  are  they  not  therewith  content.  They  grudge, 
they  mutter  and  murmure,  they  confpire,  they  take  on  agaynft 
us.  It  fretteth  them  that  we  live  by  them  or  with  them, 
find  cannot  abide  that  we  mould  drawe  the  bare  breathing  of 
the  ayre  when  they  have  all  the  moft  libertie  of  the  land. 


m 


(Temptation 
©farrrome. 


QUEEN    ELIZABETH   AND    HER    COUUTIEKS. 


all  the  portraits  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  there 
is  a  remarkable  want  of  shadow,  scarcely  suf 
ficient  being  perceptible  to  bring  out  the 
features.  This  peculiarity  arose,  in  conse 
quence  of  her  portrait  having  once  been  taken 
by  some  painter,  who  more  conscientious  than 
courtly,  exhibited  in  his  treatment  of  the  subject, 
a  minute  attention  to  detail,  which  made  his 
work  when  complete,  a  most  rigidly  faithful,  but  frightful  likeness  : 
hard  lines,  tortuous  wrinkles,  and  deep  shadows  abounded ;  insomuch, 
that  the  Queen  on  beholding  it  exclaimed,  "  Blockhead  !  do  you 
call  that  a  likeness  of  me  f  Have  I  those  things  on  my  face  ?  What 
do  you  call  them  ?"  "  Shadows,  and  it  please  your  majesty !"  "  And 
what  are  shadows  ?  Accidents,  which  are  no  part  of  the  real 
features,  and  which  it  should  be  the  painter's  most  careful  study  to 
avoid.  Take  the  picture  out  of  my  sight.'1 

The  dismayed  artist,  glad  to  get  off  with  no  more  weighty  proof  of 
her  majesty's  displeasure,  repaired  to  his  studio,  carefully  obliterated 
every  shadow  and  tell-tale  wrinkle,  and  after  putting  a  little  more 
light  on  the  pupil  of  the  eye,  a  tint  or  two  on  the  thin  lips  and 
high  cheek  bones,  together  with  a  few  other  embellishments  wherever 
he  thought  they  might  be  advantageously  disposed,  he  again 
waited  on  her  majesty,  and  with  a  very  different  result  to  that  of 
his  former  interview  :  praise  succeeded  blame,  encouraging  expres 
sions  instead  of  angry  exclamations,  and  with  a  memory  that  never 
forgot  the  lesson  then  learned,  he  became  a  fashionable  court 

O  .v. 

painter. 


THE   BROAD-PIECE   OF   QUKEX    ELIZABETH 


HE  above  LS  an  engraving  of  one  of  the  last  Broad- 
pieces  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  wherein  she  is  represent 
ed  as  extremely  old  and  ill-favored,  with  a  coun 
tenance  indicative  of  all  the  passions  and  vices  for 
which  she  was  most  remarkable.  It  .is  partly  copied 
from  a  fragment,  cut  out  and  preserved  by  some 
workman  of  the  mint,  and  although  here  given  in  its  full  proportions, 
an  entire  coin  with  this  image  is  not  known,  the  face  alone,  having 
been  thought  worthy  to  be  retained.  The  edges  are  irregularly 
clipped  closely  around  it. 

It  is  universally  believed  that  the  die  was  rigorously  destroyed 
by  the  Queen's  command  on  account  of  its  too  terrific  faithfulness, 
abounding  as  it  does  in  those  severe  indications  of  feature  and  deep 
shadow,  which  she  maintained  to  be  mere  accidents,  and  as  such 
carefully  avoided  in  all  delineations  of  her  countenance. 

The  repulsive  but  doubtless  most  accurate  likeness  as  exhibited 
on  the  coin,  bears  evidence  of  having  been  minutely  copied  from  the 
life  by  some  artist,  whose  reward  if  in  proportion  to  her  astonishment 
and  rage  on  its  presentation  for  approval,  could  have  been  little  less 

10 


Y4-  QUEEN    ELIZABETH    AND    HER    COUETIEE9. 

than  the  pillory.  It  may  be  considered  as  the  only  true  likeness  of 
her  face  as  it  really  appeared  at  an  advanced  age,  when,  with  the 
infirmities  consequent  thereon,  she  yet  retained  the  passions  and 
vanities  of  her  early  years,  together  with  that  assumption  of  youth 
ful  levity  and  agility  whose  affected  display,  always  lamentable  and 
ridiculous  in  the  old,  appears  doubly  so  in  one  whose  general  cha 
racter  was  composed  of  such  stem  elements.  In  such  outward  seem 
ing  as  the  above  true  likeness,  may  she  be  supposed  to  have  received 
the  feigned  idolatry  of  her  courtiers  ;  the  high  flown  rhodomontade  of 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  and  the  passionate  word-worship  of  the  unhappy 
Earl  of  Essex.  The  letters  of  these  distinguished  men,  while  illus 
trating  the  inordinate  vanity  and  credulity  of  their  royal  mistress, 
convey  also  a  forcible  impression  of  the  moral  degradation  and  con 
temptible  deceits  to  which  a  court  life  in  those  days  habituated 
minds,  one  of  which,  at  least,  was  originally  noble  and  sincere. 

In  that  of  the  sensitive  and  generous  Essex  this  mortifying  con 
sciousness  seems  to  have  been  perpetually  rankling,  making  him, 
even  when  basking  in  the  brightest  sunshine  of  royal  favor,  the  most 
miserable  of  men.  To  this  remorsefulness  must  be  attributed  those 
unequal  and  rebellious  moods,  those  starts  of  unruly  passion,  and 
returns  of  penitence  ;  which,  while  they  awakened  the  pique  of 
Elizabeth,  and  kept  her  in  continual  agitation,  only  rendered  him 
more  interesting,  and  apparently  more  worthy  of  her  regard  :  since 
these  ebullitions  were  generally  caused  by  some  rash  generosity  to 
others — gome  wish  to  serve  a  friend  rather  than  to  advantage  him 
self—as  when,  in  1596,  violently  pleading  for  Sir  George  Carew  to 
be  sent  deputy  to  Ireland,  instead  of  his  own  maternal  uncle,  Sir 
William  Knollys,  he  became  so  exasperated  at  the  Queen's  disincli 
nation  to  grant  his  request  as  to  rudely  turn  his  back  upon  her,  "mut 
tering  certain  words,"  as  the  historian  says  ;  who  also  adds  :  "  Where 
upon  she,  growing  impatient,  gave  him  a  box  on  the  ear,  and  bid  him 
begone  with  a  vengeance.  Essex  laid  his  hand  upon  his  sword  hilt, 
and  swore  a  great  oath  that  he  could  not  and  would  not  put  up  with 
such  an  indignity  ;  and  would  not  have  taken  it  from  King  Henry  the 
Eighth's  own  hands :  and  so,  in  a  rage,  flung  away  from  the  court. 


QUEEN    ELIZABETH    AND    HED    COUKTIER3.  75 

But  afterward,  being  admonished  tiy  the  Lord  Keeper,  he  became 
more  mild,  and  in  a  short  time  returned  into  the  Queen's  favour/' 

But  it  does  not  appear  that  this  great  Queen  had  the  art  of 
attaching  to  herself  the  affections  of  others.  In  her,  that  exquisite 
quality,  possessed  in  so  pre-eminent  a  degree  by  her  unfortunate 
rival  the  Queen  of  Scots,  was  utterly  wanting. 

Possessing  the  frailties  of  her  sex  without  its  tenderness,  devoid 
of  pity,  and  one  to  whom  love  in  its  purest  and  noblest  sense  was 
unknown,  with  the  exception  of  Burghley  her  old  and  faithful  minis 
ter,  and  one  or  two  others,  there  is  no  mention  of  anv  one  who  felt 
for  her  a  higher  degree  of  regard  than  his  own  interests  prompted  ; 
and,  after  nattering  herself  that  the  impulsive  Essex — her  last  and 
youngest  favourite,  the  darling  of  her  withered  heart — was  an  excep 
tion,  how  cruelly  must  she  have  been  wounded  by  his  disparaging 
remarks  on  that  "  crooked  carcasse,"  which  she  had  fondly  hoped 
was  to  him  so  inexpressibly  beautiful  and  beloved. 

The  sympathy  of  her  own  sex  will,  on  this  point,  go  with  her  any 
lengths  short  of  the  block,  even  against  so  fascinating  a  personage  as 
Essex. 

But  when,  at  the  last  extremity,  the  precious  and  mvsteriously 
endowed  ring — given  from  her  hand  to  his  in  a  moment  of  passionate 


affection,  with  a  solemn  promise  to  grant  any  request  that  might 
accompany  it — was  found  to  have  lost  its  power ;  when  he,  its 
wretched  owner,  unconscious  of  its  detention  by  Lady  Nottingham, 
was  suffering  all  the  tortures  of  suspense ;  while  nothing  but  a  blank 
and  ominous  silence  on  the  Queen's  part  responded  to  his  sickening 
hopes  and  fears,  and  the  fatal  hour  of  execution  came  at  last — and 
still  no  answer — how  deep  is  the  commiseration  for  the  offender — how 
intense  the  hatred  against  his  unforgiving  and  cruel  mistress ;  the  cir- 


•~Q  Ql'EEN    ELIZABETH    AND    HER    COUIITIEKS. 

cumstance  that  she  never  received  the  ring,  scarcely  lessening  the 
antipathy  to  a  nature  that  could  visit  with  so  dire  a  punishment,  one 
who  had  once  occupied  in  her  heart  a  place  so  dear  as  did  the  rash  but 
generous  and  affectionate  Essex.  The  romantic  and  touching  story  of 
this  celebrated  ring  has  but  few  parallels  in  history— the  rank  of  the 
actors  scarcely  heightening  the  interest  of  a  narrative  in  which  the 
tenclerest  emotions  of  every  heart  are  irresistibly  called  forth ;  parti 
cipating  in  the  agitation  and  sorrows  of  the  prisoner  ;  the  anxious 
wishes,  anger,  and  final  remorse  of  the  Queen.  As  the  engraving 
represents  this  antique  love-token,  imagination  makes  it  the  mute 
embodiment  of  a  thousand  tears,  kisses,  and  agonies;  and  when 
all  this  has  been  done,  how  infinitely  must  such  fancying  fall  short 
of  the  sad  reality. 

"  The  ring  of  which  the  engraving  presents  an  accurate  copy,  is 
of  gold,  the  sides  are  engraved,  and  the  insides  set  in  blue  enamel  : 
the  stone  is  a  sardonyx,  on  which  is  cut  in  relief  the  head  of  Eliza 
beth,  the  execution  of  which  is  of  a  high  order.  It  is  now  in  the 
possession  of  the  Rev.  Lord  John  Thynne,  and  has  descended  in 
direct  succession  from  the  Lady  Frances  Devereux,  afterwards 
Duchess  of  Somerset  (who  was  a  daughter  of  Essex).11" 

The  character  of  Essex  w^as  exquisite— chequered  with  weaknesses, 
but  bright  with  virtues  ;  whose  qualities  were  all  grand  and  noble, 
and  to  whom  meanness,  selfishness,  or  dissimulation  were  impossible. 
Brave  and  generous  to  excess,  he  was  the  idol  of  the  soldiery  and 
populace,  no  less  than  of  the  Queen.  Lie  was  one  of  those  who  from 
the  impulses  of  their  own  hearts  are  perpetually  doing  something 
strangely  graceful,  that  keeps  them  alive  in  the  hearts  of  others. 
In  1592,  when  forced  by  the  express  command  of  Elizabeth  to  leave 
the  army,  he  arrived  at  Dieppe  with  a  great  number  of  infirm  and 
disabled  soldiers,  the  French  ambassador  writes  of  him:  "This 
nobleman,  on  embarking  for  England,  drew  his  sword,  and  kissed 
the  blade."  His  letters  to  the  Queen  are  elaborate  compositions, 
revealing  the  effort  they  cost  the  writer.  The  two  following  are 
among  the  most  remarkable,  taken  from  the  invaluable  Hulton  MSS.: 

*  Devereux's  Lives  of  the  Earls  of  Essex. 


liCKKN    KLIZAUKTH    AND    1IEU    COl'liTIEKS.  77 

L  K  T  T  E  R     F  R  0  M     K  S  S  E  X     TO     T  II  K     QUEEN.* 

(Hulton  MSS.) 

"  Most  fair,  most  dear,  and  most  excellent  Sovereign  : 
c-  The  first  suit  I  make  unto  your  Majesty  on  my  arrival  is,  that 
your  Majesty  will  tree  me  from  writing  unto  you  of  any  matters  of 
business  ;  my  duty  shall  be  otherwise  performed  by  advertising  mv 
LL.  of  your  Majesty's  council  of  all  things  here,  and  yet  my  affection 
not  wronged,  which  tells  me,  that  zealous  faith,  and  humble  kindness 
are  argument  enough  for  a  letter. 

"  At  my  departure  I  had  a  restless  desire  honestly  to  disengage 
myself  from  this  French  action :  in  my  absence  I  conceive  an 
assured  hope  to  do  something  which  shall  make  me  worthy  of  the 
name  of  your  servant :  at  my  return  I  will  humbly  beseech  your 
Majesty  that  no  cause  but  a  great  action  of  your  own  may  draw  me 
out  of  your  sight,  for  the  two  windows  of  your  privy  chamber  shall 
be  the  poles  of  my  sphere,  where,  as  long  as  your  Majesty  wTill  please 
to  have  me,  I  am  fixed  and  immoveable.  When  your  Majesty  thinks 
that  heaven  too  good  for  me,  I  will  not  fall  like  a  star,  but  be  con 
sumed  like  a  vapour  by  the  same  sun  that  drew  me  up  to  such  a  height. 
While  your  majesty  gives  me  leave  to  say  I  love  you,  my  fortune  is, 
as  my  affection — unmatchable.  If  ever  you  deny  me  that  liberty, 
you  may  end  my  life,  but  never  shake  my  constancy ;  for  were  the 
sweetness  of  your  nature  turned  into  the  greatest  bitterness  that 
could  be,  it  is  not  in  your  power,  as  great  a  Queen  as  you  are,  to 
make  me  love  you  less.  Therefore,  for  the  honour  of  your  sex,  show 
yourself  constant  in  kindness,  for  all  your  other  virtues  are  confessed 
to  be  perfect ;  and  so  I  beseech  your  Majesty  receive  all  wishes  of 
perfect  happiness,  from  your  Majesty's  most  humble,  faithful,  and 
affectionate  servant. 

"DIEPPE,  18th  October/' 


"  R.  ESSEX. 


This  and  the  following  letter  were  written  soon  after  his  return. 

*  Devereux's  Lives  of  the  Earls  of  Essex. 


QUEEN    ELIZABETH    AND    HER    COUKTIEKS. 


LETTER  FROM  THE  EARL  OF  ESSEX  TO  THE 
QUEEN. * 

(Hulton  MSS.) 
"  MADAM  : 

"  The  delights  of  this  place  cannot  make  me  unmindful  of  one  in 
whose  sweet  company  I  have  joyed  as  much  as  the  happiest  man 
doth  in  his  highest  contentment ;  and  if  my  horse  could  run  as  fast 
as  my  thoughts  do  fly,  I  would  as  often  make  mine  eyes  rich  in 
beholding  the  treasure  of  my  love  ;  as  my  desires  do  triumph  when  I 
seem  to  myself  in  a  strong  imagination  to  conquer  your  resisting  will. 
Noble  and  dear  lady,  though  I  be  absent,  let  me  in  your  favour  be 
second  unto  none ;  and  when  I  am  at  home,  if  I  have  no  right  to 
dwell  chief  in  so  excellent  a  place,  yet  I  will  usurp  upon  all  the 
world.  And  so  making  myself  as  humble  to  do  you  service  ;  as  in 
my  love  I  am  ambitious,  I  wish  your  Majesty  all  your  happy  desires. 
Croydon,  this  Tuesday  going  to  be  mad,  and  make  my  horse  tame. 

Of  all  men  the  most  devoted  to  your  service. 

"K.  ESSEX." 

The  following  epistle  may  be  considered  one  of  the  best  specimens 
extant  of  the  style  deemed  most  likely  to  propitiate  the  Queen  on 
behalf  of  an  offending  courtier.  Sir  "Walter  Raleigh,  in  deep  disgrace 
for  having  married  the  daughter  of  Sir  Nicholas  Throgmorton,  was 
then  undergoing  the  discipline  usually  inflicted  by  her  majesty  on 
those  recreants  among  her  admirers  who  committed  the  unpardonable 
sin  of  matrimony.  The  letter,  though  addressed  to  Sir  Kobert  Cecill, 
is  evidently  intended  for  the  eye  of  the  Queen. 


SIR    WALTER    RALEIGH    TO    SIR    ROBERT    OECILL. 

"JULY,  1592. 

"  I  pray  be  a  mean  to  her  Majesty  for  the  signing  of  the  Bills  for 
the  Gardes'  Coates,  which  are  to  be  made  now  for  the  Prograsse,  arid 

*  Devereux's  Lives  of  the  Karls  of  Kssex. 


QUEEN    ELIZABETH    AND    HER    COURTIERS.  79 

which   the    Clcark   of  the    Clieeck   hath  importnnde  me  to  write 
for. 

"  My  Heart  was  never  broken  till  this  day  that  I  hear  the  Queen 
goes  away  so  far  off,  whom  I  have  followed  so  many  years  with  so 
great  Love  and  Desire,  in  so  many  journeys,  and  am  now  left  behind 
her,  in  a  dark  Prison  all  alone.  While  she  was  yet  nire  at  hand, 
that  I  might  hear  of  her  once  in  two  or  three  Dayes,  my  Sorrowes 
were  the  less  :  but  even  now  my  Heart  is  cast  into  the  Depth  of  all 
Misery.  I  that  was  wont  to  behold  her  riding  like  Alexander ;  hunt 
ing  like  Diana  ;  walking  like  Venus ;  the  gentle  Wind  blowing  her 
fair  Hair  about  her  pure  cheeks,  like  a  Nymph.  Sometimes  sitting 
in  the  Shade  like  a  Goddess  ;  sometime  singing  like  an  Angell ; 
sometime  playing  like  Orpheus. 

"  Behold  the  Sorrow  of  this  World  !  Once  amiss  hath  bereaved  me 
of  all.  Oli,  Glory,  that  only  shineth  in  Misfortune,  what  is  become 
of  thy  Assurance  ?  All  Wounds  have  Skares  but  that  of  Fantasie  :  all 
affections  their  relenting  but  that  of  Woman  Kind.  Who  is  the  Judge 
of  Friendship  but  Adversity,  or  when  is  Grace  witnessed  but  in 
Offences  ?  There  were  no  Divinity  but  by  reason  of  Compassion  ; 
for  Revenges  are  brutish  and  mortall. 

"  All  those  Times  past,  the  Loves,  the  Sythes,  the  Sorrowes,  the 
Desires,  can  they  not  way  down  one  frail  Misfortune  ?  Cannot  one 
Dropp  of  Gall  be  hidden  in  so  great  Heaps  of  Sweetness  ?  I  may 
then  conclude  Spes  et  Fortuna  Valete.  She  is  gone  in  whom  I 
trusted,  and  of  me  hath  not  one  thought  of  Mercy,  nor  any  Respect 
of  that  that  wras.  Do  with  me  now  therefore  what  you  list.  I  am 
more  weary  of  Life  than  they  are  desirous  I  should  perish,  which,  if 
it  had  been/071  her,  as  it  is  by  her,  I  had  been  too  happily  born. 
"  Yours,  not  worthy  any  name  or  Title, 

"W.  R. 

"  To  my  Honourable  Friend,  SIR  ROBERT  CECILL, 

Knight  of  her  Majesty's  most  Honourable  Privy  Councell."* 


*Burghley  State  Papers,  Mnrdin.     Page  (557. 


I 

, 


1 


QUEEN    ELIZABETH    AND    HER    COU1ST1EKS. 


SIR    PHILIP    SYDNEY    TO    T  II  E    Q  U  KEN. 

"10  NOVEMBER,  1581. 
u  Most  gracious  Soverein. 

"  This  rude  Peece  of  Paper  shall  presume  because  of  your  Majes 
ty's  commandement,  most  humbly  to  present  such  a  cypher  as  little 
Leysure  coold  afford  me.  If  there  come  any  Matter  to  my  Know- 
ledg,  the  Importance  wherof  shall  deserve  to  be  so  masked,  I  will 
not  fail  (since  your  Pleasure  is  my  onely  Boldnes)  to  your  own 
Handes  to  recommend  it.  In  the  mean  Tyme,  I  beseech  your  Ma- 
jestie  will  vouchsafe  legibly  to  reed  my  Hart  in  the  course  of  my 
Lyfe ;  and  though  itself  be  but  of  a  mean  worth,  yet  to  esteem  it 
lyke  a  poor  Hous  well  sett,  I  most  lowly  kiss  your  Handes,  and 
prai  to  God  your  Enemies  may  then  onely  have  Peace  when  tliei 
are  weery  of  knowing  your  Force. 

"  Your  Hajestie's  most  humble  Servant, 

"  PHILIP  SIDNEJ. 

"  At  Gravesend,  this  10th  of  November,  1581. 
•To  the  Queen's  Most  Excellent  Majestic." 

\_Burghley  State  Papers,  Murdin^p.  364.] 


QUEEN    ELIZABETH    AND    I1EK 


81 


THE    EARL    OF    OXFORD. 

HE  Earl  of  Oxford,  of  whom  Mary  Queen  of  Scots 
makes  mention  in  her  letter  to  Queen  Elizabeth,  was 
Edward  de  Yere,  one  of  the  most  elegant  and  accom 
plished  noblemen  of  the  English  court.  He  shone  to 
the  greatest  advantage  in  the  tournaments,  masques, 
and  other  princely  pastimes  of  the  period.  As  victor 
in  two  of  the  former,  he  had  the  honour  to  receive  the  prize  from 
the  Queen's  own  hand.  Clothed  in  complete  armor  of  the  most 
dazzling  and  costly  workmanship,  he  was  led  into  her  presence  by 
two  of  the  most  beautiful  ladies  of  the  court,  amidst  all  the  ceremo 
nies,  pomp,  and  pageantry  usual  on  such  occasions. 

He  is  recorded  to  have  been  the  first  who  brought  over  from 
Italy  those  richly  embroidered  and  perfumed  gloves  which  soon 
afterwards  were  so  much  worn  by  the  great  ladies  of  the  time,  and 
which  make  so  elegant  a  feature  in  their  costume.  The  Earl  must 
have  been  a  most  welcome  guest  to  these  fair  dames,  since,  in  addi 
tion  to  gloves,  he  is  recorded  to  have  brought  also  "  sweet  bags,"  "-a 
perfumed  leather  jerkin,"  and  other  pleasant  things.  To  the  Queen 
he  presented  a  pair  of  these  perfumed  gloves  trimmed,  we  are 
told,  "with  four  tufts  or  roses  of  coloured  silk.  In  which  gloves 
she  took  such  delight  as  to  be  pictured  with  them  on  her  hands." 
The  rich  scent  with  which  they  were  impregnated  was,  for  many 
years  afterwards,  called  the  "  Earl  of  Oxford's  perfume." 

The  wife  of  this  nobleman,  to  whom  he  did  not  dare  to  behave 
well,  for  fear  of  incurring  the  Queen's  displeasure,  was  Anne  Cecil, 
daughter  to  Lord  Burghley.  But  at  length  such  restraint  was  unne 
cessary  :  for  so  enraged  was  the  Earl  against  Cecil  for  the  part  he 
took  against  the  unfortunate  Duke  of  Norfolk,  his  bosom  friend, 
that,  in  a  base  spirit  of  mean,  unmanly  revenge,  he  not  only 

11 


82  QUEEN    ELIZABETH    AND    HEK    COUETIERS. 

estranged  himself  from  liis  wife,  but  wantonly  wasted  and  consumed 
nearly  the  whole  of  his  vast  inheritance. 

The  earl  was  a  comic  writer  and  a  poet,  many  of  his  plays  being 
greatly  celebrated  in  his  day ;  but — alas  !  for  human  praise  and 
glory — their  very  names  are  now  lost.  The  Queen  of  Scots,  in  a 
letter  to  the  Archbishop  of  Glasgow  and  Cardinal  Lorraine,  dated 
August  4,  1574:,  writes :  "  If  the  Earl  of  Oxford  arrives  in  your 
neighbourhood,  inform  my  cousin  of  Guise  that  he  is  one  of  the 
greatest  people  in  this  country,  and  a  Catholic,  and  a  friend  in  secret, 
and  request  him  to  give  him  a  hearty  welcome  ;  he  is  frolicsome 
and  young,  and  will  gladly  seek  for  the  society  of  young  people.  I 
entreat  my  said  cousin  and  his  brothers  to  cherish  him,  and  give 
him  some  horses,  and  keep  company  with  him,  taking  him  about 
with  them  to  amuse  him." 

That  great  and  overgrown  favorite  the  Earl  of  Leicester  received 
a  somewhat  similar  mark  of  attention  from  Mary — as  she  thus  men 
tions  him  to  her  uncle,  the  Cardinal  of  Lorraine,  in  1576  :  "Mon 
sieur  de  la  Motlie  advises  me  to  entreat  that  my  cousin  of  Guise, 
my  grandmother,  and  you,  will  write  some  civil  letters  to  Leicester, 
thanking  him  for  his  courtesy  to  me,  as  if  he  had  done  much  for 
me ;  and  by  the  same  medium  send  him  some  handsome  present, 
which  will  do  me  much  good.  He  takes  great  delight  in  furniture. 
If  you  send  him  some  crystal  cup  in  your  name,  and  allow  me  to 
pay  for  it,  or  some  fine  Turkey  carpet,  or  such  like,  as  you  may 
think  most  fitting,  it  will  perhaps  save  me  this  winter,  and  will  make 
him  much  ashamed,  or  suspected  of  his  mistress ;  and  all  will  assist  me, 
for  he  intends  to  make  me  speak  of  marriage  or  die,  as  it  is  said,  so 
that  either  he  or  his  brother  may  have  to  do  with  this  crown.  I 
beseech  you  to  try  if  such  small  devices  can  save  me — and  I  shall 
entertain  him  with  the  other  at  a  distance." 


QUEEN    ELIZABETH    AND    IIEll    COU11TIEKS. 


83 


IR  Christopher  Hatton,  though  one  of  the  most 
worthy  of  all  the  favorites  of  Queen  Elizabeth, 
has  received  but  little  notice  from  biographers, 
and  that  little,  though  comprising  the  descrip 
tion  of  some  admirable  qualities  and  virtues, 
had  probably  ere  this  sunk  into  oblivion  but 
for  the  poet  Gray,  who,  remembering  that  Ilat- 
ton's  graceful  person  and  tine  dancing  had  first 

won  him  the  notice  of  the  Queen,  brought  him  forward  somewhat 

ludicrously  in  his  "  Long  Story,"  as 


^}T  g^ve  Lord  Keeper  led  the  brawls, 
The  seals  and  maces  danced  before  him. 


gj.  QUEEN    ELIZABETH    AND   HER   I'OUKTIERS. 

"  His  bushy  beard  and  shoestrings  green, 

His  high-crowned  hat  ai.d  satin  doublet, 
Moved  the  stout  heart  of  England's  Queen, 

Though  Pope  and  Spaniard  could  not  trouble  it." 

"  Sir  Christopher  Ilatton,"  says  Sir  John  Perrot,"  came  into  the 
court  by  the  Galliard,  for  he  came  but  as  a  simple  gentleman  of 
the  Inns  of  Court  in  a  masque,  and  for  his  activity  and  person, 
which  was  tall  and  proportionable,  was  taken  into  the  Queen's  favour. 
Offices  and  grants  were  showered  upon  him  until,  in  1587,  he  was 
appointed  Lord  High  Chancellor  and  Knight  of  the  Garter.  He 
died  unmaried  in  1591." 

He  is  recorded  to  have  been  the  only  one  of  the  Queen's  favour 
ites  who  died  a  bachelor ;  one,  who  more  than  all  the  rest,  showed 
himself  worthy  of  the  honours  bestowed  upon  him  ;  and  who,  in 
the  fulness  of  prosperity,  whilst  remembering  what  belonged  to  his 
own  dignity,  never  forgot  what  was  due  to  that  of  others.  Besides 
being  one  of  the  handsomest  and  most  accomplished  men  of  his 
time,  he  is  described  as  possessing  "great  nobleness  of  mind,  but  no 
ambition  ;"  a  heart  tenderly  alive  to  the  calls  of  suffering  humanity  ; 
more  especially  exercising  bounty  and  munificence  to  students  and 
learned  men,  whom  it  was  his  delight  to  foster  and  encourage,  and 
of  singular  moderation  in  his  religious  views  ;  holding  it  as  his  opi 
nion,  that  in  all  that  appertained  to  the  soul — fire  and  sword  were  both 
cujpable  and  useless.  The  crown  of  his  character  seems  to  have 
been  a  bright  and  delicate  conscientiousness,  which  amidst  a  thou 
sand  temptations  and  opportunities,  preserved  him  from  ever  becom 
ing  their  slave.  One  in  whom  the  elements  were  so  finely  blended 
should  have  met  with  a  happier  ending,  for  his  death  has  been 
ascribed  to  the  harshness  and  suddenness  with  which  Elizabeth  de 
manded  the  instant  payment  of  a  great  sum  in  his  hands.  "  He  had 
hopes,"  says  Camden,  "  in  regard  of  the  favour  he  was  in  with  her, 
she  would  have  forgiven  him ;  but  she  could  not  having  once  cast 
him  down  with  a  harsh  word,  raise  him  up  again,  though  she  visited 
him,  and  endeavoured  to  comfort  him."  So  died  a  good  and  noble 
man,  broken-hearted. 


THE     C  0  U  X  T  E  S  S     OF    SHREWSBURY. 


LIZABETII,  Countess  of  Shrewsbury,  or,  as  she 
was  fondly  and  admiringly  styled  in  her  native 
county  of  Derby,  "  Bess  of  Ilardwick,"  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  women  of  her  time,  was  also 
distinguished  for  her  indomitable  strength  of 
character,  masculine  abilities,  and  excessivre 
pride.  Furious  of  temper,  selfish  and  unfeeling 
of  heart,  she  resembled  greatly  the  royal  mistress 
she  served,  with  whom  she  was  a  great  favorite;  and  in  like  manner 
as  Elizabeth  conducted  the  affairs  of  her  kingdom,  so  did  the 
haughty  and  imperious  countess  wisely  and  ably  manage  her  great 
estates,  increasing  their  value  in  every  possible  manner,  overseeing 
every  department,  and  transacting  the  various  matters  of  business 
connected  with  her  buildings,  farms,  forests,  lead  and  coal-mines, 
in  her  own  person  :  lending  large  sums  of  money  at  great  profit,  and 
enriching  herself  marvellously  by  the  exercise  of  abilities,  prudence, 
and  judgment  such  as  are  rarely  found  united  in  a  female  character, 
particularly  when  accompanied  by  beauty  so  rare  as  that  for  which 
the  countess  was  celebrated.  This  lady  wras  originally  one  of  the  co 
heirs  of  Ilardwick  in  Derbyshire,  and  on  account  of  her  great  wealth 
and  extreme  beauty,  was,  when  quite  young,  much  sought  after  by 
many.  She  married  at  or  before  the  early  age  of  fourteen,  becom 
ing  successively  the  tyrant  of  four  husbands,  and  enriching  herself 
by  them  all. 

The  first  was  Robert  Barley  Esq.,  of  Derbyshire ;  her  second,  Sir 
William  St.  Lo,  captain  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  guard,  and  owner  of 
many  fair  lordships  in  Gloucestershire  and  elsewhere  :  her  third,  Sir 
William  Cavendish — and  her  fourth,  the  Earl  of  Shrewsbury. 

The  princely  pleasure  of  building  fine  houses  was  the  one  in 
which  the  countess  most  delighted.  A  magnificent  pastime  ;  which 


86  THE    COUNTESS    OF    SHREWSBURY. 

while  affording  employment  to  hundreds,  diffused  animation,  industry 
and  comfort  amongst  the  poorer  classes  wherever  it  wras  going  on.  A 
cunning  fortune-teller  in  whose  cajoleries  the  countess  placed  great 
trust,  being  either  himself  fully  aware  of  the  benefits  derived  by 
her  tenantry  from  her  passion  for  palace  architecture,  or  incited 
thereto  by  others,  made  to  her  a  solemn  revelation  that  so  long  as  she 
continued  to  build,  Death  would  have  no  power  over  her,  but  that  as 
soon  as  she  discontinued  the  practice,  her  life  would  end  quickly. 
Deeply  impressed  with  his  words  the  countess  pursued  her  favourite 
plans  more  energetically  than  ever,  one  fine  edifice  after  another 
rising  into  notice  beneath  her  guiding  hand,  until  in  the  midst  of  a 
very  severe  winter,  when  the  river  Derwent  seemed  reduced  to  a 
frozen  thread  between  its  icy  banks,  when  the  roads  were  blocked  up 
with  snow,  and  the  cold  was  so  intense  that  out-door  work  was  im 
possible,  the  labourers  were  obliged  to  discontinue  their  operations, 
and  the  countess,  no  longer  cheered  by  the  busy  sounds  of  labour  and 
the  voices  of  her  numerous  workmen,  became  melancholy,  suffering, 
seriously  ill,  and  in  a  few  days  was  no  more. 

As  the  widow  of  Sir  William  Cavendish,  this  beautiful  empress 
of  the  "Peak'Miad  captivated  George  Earl  of  Shrewsbury,  at  that 
time  one  of  the  greatest  peers  of  England  ;  but  she  was  inexorable 
to  his  suit  until  he  had  given  his  consent  that  Gilbert,  his  second 
son,  but  afterwards  his  heir,  should  espouse  Mary  (the  "  Lady  Tal- 
bot "  of  Queen  Mary's  letter),  her  daughter  by  Sir  William  Caven 
dish  ;  and  that  the  Earl's  younger  daughter,  the  Lady  Grace,  should 
become  the  wife  of  Henry  Cavendish,  her  eldest  son.  The  earl  having 
consented  to  this,  she  demanded  further  an  immense  jointure  in  lands 
to  be  settled  upon  herself;  to  this  also  he  condescended,  and,  as 
Dugdale  says,  "  to  much  more  hereafter."  Indeed,  she  finally  so  far 
prevailed  over  the  Earl  that  after  some  years,  when  a  separation  was 
arranged  between  them,  he  was  obliged  to  become,  as  it  were,  her 
pensioner — the  Queen  taking  part  against  him  in  aid  of  her  favorite. 


THE  BARBER  IN  I  OR  PORTLAND  VASE. 

|S  the  most  celebrated  of  all  the  sepulchral 
vases  of  antiquity,  the  Portland  or  Baibe- 
rini  Vase  may  justly  be  considered  one  of 
the  most  interesting  relics  of  Grecian  art 
which  has  descended  to  our  times — a  mys 
terious  relic  of  the  past.  It  was  discovered 
some  time  between  the  years  1623  and  1644, 
during  the  pontificate  of  Pope  Urban  VIII. 
of  the  Barberini  family;  when  some  labourers,  while  tilling  a  mound 


88  THE    BAKBEKINI    OK    1'OllTLAND    VASE. 

called  Monte  del  Grano,  about  three  miles  from  Home,  on  the  Fras- 
cati  road,  accidentally  discovered  an  arch  with  a  large  vault- 
beneath,  which,  on  examination,  proved  to  be  an  ancient  tomb,  in 
whose  upper  chamber  stood  a  magnificent  sarcophagus  of  white 
marble.  On  its  top,  in  recumbent  positions,  were  two  figures  of 
heroic  size  (about  seven  feet  in  height) — a  male  and  a  female — both 
grandly  proportioned.  The  sides  and  ends  of  the  sarcophagus  were 
adorned  in  high  relief  with  sculptured  processions  of  male  and 
female  figures,  horses,  offerings,  slaves,  &c.,  designed  and  executed 
in  the  most  spirited  manner. 

Within  this  elaborate  and  costly  covering  was  the  vase  itself, 
then  full  of  ashes.  But  whose?  No  inscription  of  any  kind  could 
be  discovered ;  and  though  the  names  of  Alexander  Severus  and  of 
his  mother,  Julia  Mammsea,  have  become  identified  with  these 
matchless  objects,  the  assumption  has  not  been  fully  sustained,  and 
is  grounded  solely  on  some  fancied  resemblance  of  the  heads  to  those 
on  their  coins. 

It  has  been  conjectured  that  at  some  former  period  a  tower,  or 
other  external  defence,  existed  upon  the  mound  wherein  the  sarco 
phagus  was  discovered,  on  which  would  probably  have  been  inscribed 
the  names  of  those  for  whom  it  was  erected ;  and  whose  destruction 
may  reasonably  be  accounted  for  by  the  incursions  of  barbarians, 
hordes  of  whom  so  often  spread  devastation  and  terror  over  the  fertile 
plains  of  Italy. 

According  to  Lampridius,  Alexander  Severus,  who  from  his  youth 
upwards,  and  throughout  the  whole  period  of  his  reign  was  guided 
solely  by  his  mother,  transacting  all  things  by  her  advice,  and  with 
whom  he  was  finally  assassinated  by  the  machinations  of  Maxi- 
minius,  was  together  with  herself  both  deified,  and  afterwards  uni 
versally  lamented  by  the  senate  and  people.  A  magnificent  ceno 
taph  was  erected  to  them  in  Gaul,  and  a  grand  and  ample  sepul 
chre  in  Rome.  The  one,  it  has  been  said,  in  which  the  vase  was 
found. 

The  exquisite  workmanship  of  this  antique  chef  d'ceuvre  is  a 
convincing  proof  of  the  skill  of  the  artists  of  the  time  in  which  it 


THE  BARBERINI  OR  PORTLAND  VASE.  89 

was  fabricated,  as  arc  also  the  coins  of  the  Emperor  Alexander 
Severus,  which  are  very  tine.  It  is  certain  he  was  both  well  edu 
cated  and  accomplished,  and  being  himself  a  judge  of  painting, 
sculpture,  and  architecture,  he  was  most  probably  a  great  ericou- 
rager  of  the  arts;  for  this  reason  it  may  be  conjectured,  that  the  vase 
is  not  of  higher  antiquity  than  his  reign. 

It  may,  too,  be  probable  that  as  the  Monte  del  Grano  is  situated 
not  far  from  the  ruins  of  the  aqueduct  made  by  Severus  and  com^ 
manding  a  view  of  that  stupendous  work  from  its  source  to  its  ter 
mination,  and  also,  that  in  that  part  of  the  Campagna  Eoniagna, 
Julia  Mammsea  had  her  delightful  villa  (as  appears  from  the  disco 
very  of  leaden  pipes  in  the  vicinity  of  Lugnano,  with  the  inscription, 
Julia  Mammae  Aug. :)  that  the  senate  might  have  appropriately  chosen 
that  spot,  whereon  to  found  the  mausoleum  of  herself  and  son. 

Ancient  and  modern  opinion  have  received  this  as  true  ;  and  it  is 
certain  that  no  one  has  hitherto  demonstrated  it  to  be  false,  but  should 
the  above  mentioned  ruined  fabric  of  Monte  del  Grano,  be  not  indeed 
the  remains  of  the  mausoleum,  erected  by  the  senate,  to  Alexander 
Severus  and  his  mother,  not  the  least  knowledge  now  remains  of 
where  it  could  have  been. 

Enveloped  in  mystery,  these  superb  mementoes  of  a  refined  and 
luxurious  people  have  ever  presented  a  favourite  theme  for  antiqua 
rian  discussion ;  every  faculty  of  the  learned  mind  has  been  racked 
in  their  behalf;  the  meaning  of  the  symbolic  figures  which  surround 
the  vase,  no  less  than  the  materials  of  which  the  vase  itself  is  com 
posed,  and  also  the  manner  of  its  construction  having  given  rise  to 
innumerable  theories  and  endless  conjectures.  The  vase  is  nine  and 
three-quarter  inches  in  height,  and  twenty-one  and  three-quarter 
inches  in  circumference.  It  is  of  the  kind  called  Encaustic  work, 
composed  of  vitrified  paste  or  glass,  semi-transparent,  and  of 
a  dark  violet  colour,  approaching  to  black,  excepting  when 
viewed  opposite  the  light,  when  its  amethystine  purple  becomes 
apparent. 

On  this  dark  ground-work  are  sculptured  in  low  relief,  figures 
of  nearly  pearly  whiteness,  partly  opaque,  and  partly  transparent,  in 

" 


90  THE  BAUBEU131  OH  PORTLAND  VASE. 

strict  accordance  with  the  inflections  of  the  figures,  and  the  folds  of 
the  draperies,  thus  snperadding  to  the  exquisite  beauty  of  the  sculp 
tured  forms,  the  heightening  effects  of  light  and  shadow,  the  dark 
purple  of  the  ground- work  underneath  them  being  more  or  less  visible 
through  the  semi-transparent  white  relief ;  by  this  means  also,  affording 
those  imperceptible  gradations  of  shade  which  give  so  much  delicacy  to 
the  figures.  Like  the  body  of  the  vase,  they  too  are  encaustic,  the  whole 
having  evidently  been  wrought  in  a  lathe  after  the  manner  of  a  cameo. 

This  vase,  although  excelled  in  form  by  others  of  the  antique,  is 
unapproachable  in  the  beauty  of  its  figures,  which  to  the  utmost  ana 
tomical  correctness  of  drawing  and  grace  of  design,  unite  the  minute 
finish  of  the  finest  gems.  So  beautiful  is  this  unique  funeral  urn  that  it 
was  long  considered  as  fashioned  from  one  entire  gem.  Bartoli  calls 
it  a  Sardonyx  ;  De  la  Chausse,  an  Agate  ;  and  Montfaucon,  simply 
a  precious  stone.  Various  explanations  have  been  given  of  the 
figures  by  which  it  is  adorned  ;  and  amongst  the  rest,  one,  by  the 
philosophic  poet  Darwin,  which,  whether  it  be  the  true  one  or  not, 
seems  so  accordant  with  the  mystic  beauty  in  which  the  ancients  were 
wont  to  envelope  all  that  related  to'  the  soul,  as  to  warrant  if  not  full 
belief,  yet  at  least  warm  admiration  for  its  singularly  felicitous  com 
bination  of  thoughts  and  images. 

He  supposes  the  figures  not  to  refer  to  any  particular  family  or 
event,  but  rather  to  portions  of  the  Eleusinian  mysteries.  Dividing, 
therefore,  the  vase  into5  two  compartments,  he  deems  the  first  to  be 
emblematic  of  Mortal  Life,  represented  by  a  dying  lady  or  Libitina, 
who,  seated  beneath  a  tree  of  deciduous  leaf,  amidst  the  ruins  of  a 
temple,  and  holding  an  inverted  torch,  is  attended  by  two  figures 
whose  countenances  reveal  the  terror  and  commiseration  with  which 
mankind  naturally  look  upon  suffering  and  death.  This  description 
applies  to  the  figures  on  that  side  of  the  vase  whose  perfect  form  has 
been  given  to  the  reader  on  a  previous  page. 

The  reverse  side  of  the  vase  as  given  on  the  next  page,  he  judges  to 
be  symbolic  of  Immortal  Life,  where  a  hero  is  seen  entering  the  Ely- 
sian  gate,  conducted  by  Divine  Love,  and  received  by  Immortality, 
who  is  about  to  present  him  to  Pluto. 


T1IK    ISAKItKliFM    OR    J'OKTLANJ)    VASK. 


Beneath  the  foot  of  the  vase  the  head  of  a  Priestess  or  Sybil,  in  a 
Phrygian  coif  or  bonnet,  with  a  fluttering  vest,  and  having  her  fin 
ger  pressed  firmly  upon  her  lips,  is  supposed  to  be  the  goddess  Ange- 
rona,  to  indicate  that  silence  which  guarded  the  Eleusinian  mysteries. 
The  skill  of  the  Greek  artist  has  strengthened  the  supposition  re 
specting  the  meaning  of  the  figures  on  the  vase,  by  having  made  the 
robe  of  the  newly  entered  spirit  seem  as  if  it  adhered  to  the  portal, 
expressive  of  reluctance  to  leave  its  earthly  habitation  for  the 
regions  of  the  dread  unknown. 

Pietro  Bartoli  thought  the  subject  related  to  the  birth  of  Alex 
ander  the  Great.  Monsieur  Von  Yelthein  supposes  that  it  refers 
to  the  story  of  Admetus  recovering  his  wife  from  Elysium.  Mons. 
d'llancarville  thinks  that  it  represents  the  descent  of  Orpheus  into 
Elysium  in  order  to  recover  his  beloved  Eurydice.  The  learned 
Mons.  Ennio  Quirino  Yisconti  is  of  opinion,  that  it  records  the  mar 
riage  of  Peleus  and  Thetis.  Dr.  King  considers  it  to  refer  to  the 
birth  of  Alexander  Severus  himself,  while  the  late  T.  Windus,  Esq. 
F.S.A.,  puts  forth  an  idea  from  what  he  calls  the  "phantasmagoria 
of  his  own  mind  "  that  the  vase  was  the  receptacle  of  the  Ashes  of 
Galen,  and  the  figures  commemorative  of  an  extraordinary  cure,  per- 


92  THE    BAKBEUINI    Oil    PORTLAND    VASE. 

formed  by  that  vainglorious  old  physician  on  a  noble  lady  whose 
disease  he  discovered  to  be  love;  the  object  of  her  passion,  "an 
actor,"  or  "  rope  dancer,"  the  discovery  being  made  by  the  same 
means  employed  by  Erasistratns,  who  became  cognizant  of  the 
love  of  Antioclms  for  his  mother-in-law  Stratonice,  by  the  quickening 
of  the  pulse  of  the  patient,  at  the  moment  when  she  entered  the 
apartment.  Erasistratus,  one  of  the  most  celebrated  physicians  and 
anatomists  of  ancient  Greece,  while  sojourning  at  the  court  of 
Seleucus  Nicator  king  of  Syria,  was  called  upon  to  prescribe  for 
Antiochus  the  eldest  son  of  the  king,  who  had  been  seized  with  a 
violent  and  apparently  incurable  malady,  which  defied  the  efforts  of 
all  the  physicians.  Erasistratus,  having  by  his  sagacity  detected  the 
source  of  the  disease,  replied  to  the  questions  of  Seleucus,  that  the 
disease  of  his  son  was  incurable,  as  it  proceeded  from  an  attachment 
for  an  object  he  could  never  obtain.  On  being  asked  the  name  of 
the  lady,  Erasistratus  replied,  "  My  wife !"  The  king  used  every 
argument  in  his  power  to  induce  him  to  give  her  up  to  his  son,  but 
in  vain — when  on  being  asked  in  return  whether  he  would  yield  his 
wife  for  a  similar  purpose,  he  answered  readily  in  the  affirmative, 
and  immediately  transferred  his  beautiful  queen  to  his  son,  to 
gether  with  several  fine  provinces  for  her  dowry.  The  fee  of  the 
fortunate  physician  was  one  hundred  talents,  or  24,375  pounds 
sterling.  Mr.  "Windus  has  entered  into  the  subject  of  the  vase 
with  the  most  vivid  enthusiasm  ;  and  though  the  story  of  Galen 
and  the  lady  seems  rather  extravagant,  it  is  accompanied  by  an 
amount  of  matter  in  the  highest  degree  interesting  and  valuable. 
The  Barberini  Yase  remained  in  the  palace  of  that  name  in  Rome 
for  more  than  a  century,  when  a  Roman  princess,  the  representative 
of  the  family,  in  consequence,  it  is  said,  of  debts  contracted  at  the  gam 
ing-table,  sold  it,  together  with  the  finest  antiquities  of  her  collect1! on. 
The  circumstances  becoming  known  to  the  Pope,  his  Holiness  forbade 
the  removal  of  any  of  them  out  of  Rome;  but  the  vase,  nevertheless, 
was  privately  carried  away.  It  was  afterwards  purchased  by  James 
Byers,  Esq.,  of  Tonely,  Aberdeerishire,  and  subsequently  sold  by 
him  to  Sir  William  Hamilton,  from  whom  it  was  purchased  by 


I 

THE  BARBERINI  OR  PORTLAND  VASE.  93 

the  Duchess  of  Portland,  hence  its  present  name  of  the  Portland 
Vase;  but  so  much  secresy  was,  at  the  express  desire  of  the  Duchess, 
observed  regarding  the  transaction,  that  it  was  not  until  after  her 
death,  that  even  her  own  family  were  aware  that  she  was  the  posses 
sor  of  it.  At  the  sale  of  the  Duchess's  very  valuable  and  curious 
museum  in  1786,  the  vase  was  purchased  by  her  son  the  Duke  of 
Portland  for  1029  guineas.  To  the  zeal  of  this  enlightened  and 
liberal  nobleman,  for  the  promotion  of  the  fine  arts,  the  public  are 
indebted  for  the  numerous  and  successful  imitations  of  the  original, 
which  the  celebrated  Wedgewood  was  enabled  to  make,  in  conse 
quence  of  having  it  entrusted  to  his  care,  and  remaining  entirely 
at  his  command  for  twelve  months,  during  which  period,  copies 
innumerable  of  all  sizes  were  produced,  by  which  means  the 
original  has  become  almost  universally  familiar.  Whilst  yet  in 
the  possession  of  Mr.  Byers,  a  mould  was  made  from  it,  under  the 
superintendence  of  Pichler  the  celebrated  gem-engraver  at  Rome,  and 
from  this  perfect  mould,  Mr.  James  Tassie,  of  London,  took  off  a 
number  of  casts  in  plaster  carefully  prepared  with  gum.  By  the 
noble  generosity  of  the  Duke  of  Portland  this  unrivalled  relique  of 
ancient  Greek  art  has,  since  the  year  1810,  adorned  the  centre  of  an 
ante-room  in  the  British  Museum,  London,  where  it  occupied  a  place 
on  an  octagonal  table  under  a  glass-case.  Here  it  remained  in  safety 
until  1845,  when,  after  having  existed  since  A.  D.  235  without  flaw 
or  blemish,  it  was  dashed  to  pieces  by  an  insane  visitor  to  the 
museum.  It  has,  however,  been  so  successfully  repaired  as  to  leave 
scarcely  any  traces  of  the  fractures,  and  those  only  visible  to  the 
critical  eye  of  the  experienced  virtuoso.  It  has  been  again  placed 
in  the  museum  with  a  protective  barrier,  to  guard  against  future 
accidents. 


HADDONHALL. 

ADDON"  Hall  in  Derbyshire  is  one  of  the  finest 
specimens  in  England  of  an  ancient  baronial  resi 
dence.  A  memento  of  her  early  ages  and  feudal 
times.  Castellated  and  embattled,  with  dark 
woods  for  its  back-ground,  it  is  grandly  placed 
on  a  rocky  eminence  over-hanging  the  river 
Wye,  amidst  one  of  the  loveliest  vales  in  Derby 
shire.  It  comprises  within  its  walls  architec 
tural  remains  of  the  Saxons,  Romans,  Plantagenets,  and  Tudors. 


_J 


H ADDON    HALL.  95 

The  present  structure,  erected  on  the  site  of  an  old  Saxon  Castle, 
dates  from  the  beginning  of  the  fourteenth  century ;  and  after  re 
ceiving  successive  alterations  and  additions  from  the  reign  of  Stephen 
to  that  of  Elizabeth,  at  the  hands'  of  its  various  owners,  the 
Avenels,  Peverels,  Vernons,  Bassets,  and  Manners,  in  which  last 
noble  family  it  still  remains  (being  the  property  of  the  Duke  of 
Rutland),  it  affords  at  the  present  time  one  of  the  best  means  now 
extant,  whereby  to  form  a  correct  idea  of  the  style  of  living  prac 
tised  by  the  Old  English  Nobility,  whose  rude  magnificence  and 
bounteous  hospitality  are  strikingly  evidenced  in  all  the  interior 
arrangements. 

Here,  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  dwelt  the  powerful  and 
magnificent  old  knight,  Sir  George  Vernon,  "  King  of  the  Peak,"  who 
with  fourscore  servants  in  his  halls,  and  hundreds  of  vassals  and  re 
tainers,  kept  open  house  twelve  days  after  Christmas,  and  at  all 
other  times  held  his  state  right  royally,  exercising  within  his  own 
domain  all  the  powder  and  privileges  of  a  king,  even  to  the  award  of 
the  death  penalty  on  those  of  his  tenants  found  guilty  of  crimes  de 
serving  condign  punishment  ;  the  ominous  name  of  Gallows-acre 
still  stigmatizing  a  haunted  glade  in  the  vicinity,  which,  as  a  matter 
of  right,  has  still  several  "  sperrits  "  of  departed  free-booters  lurking 
about  its  precincts.  "With  this  exception  all  the  traditions  of 
Haddon  arc  of  a  peaceful  and  pleasing  character,  tinged  with  love 
and  romance,  but  never  with  strife  and  bloodshed ;  they  do  not,  how 
ever,  go  farther  back  than  the  days  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  otherwise, 
the  Eagle's  Tower,  the  most  ancient  part  of  the  building,  inhabited 
during  the  reign  of  Stephen  by  one  of  the  descendants  of  William 
Peverel,  would  doubtless  furnish  many  a  startling  incident  of  that 
stormy  period,  when  the  whole  kingdom  was  convulsed  with  civil 
war,  and  every  nobleman's  house  a  fortress. 

The  general  plan  of  Haddon  is  that  of  twro  immense  quadrangular 
courts,  each  surrounded  by  ancient  battlemented  buildings  of  dark 
grey  stone,  interspersed  with  open  balconies,  flights  of  steps,  and 
jutting  oriels ;  together  with  an  infinity  of  towers  and  turrets, 
springing  from  unknown  heights  and  depths  in  picturesque  confusion, 


H  ADDON    HALL. 


all  venerable  with  age,  mossy  and  ivied,  but  perfect,  no  part  having 
so  far  yielded  to  time  as  to  present  the  appearance  of  a  ruin. 

The  main  entrance  to  Haddon  is  a  gloomy  archway  beneath  a 
tower.  The  enormous  gates  ribbed  and  wedged  with  iron,  of  strength 
sufficient  to  resist  a  battering-ram.  These  are  only  opened  on  state 
occasions,  the  usual  mode  of  ingress  being  through  a  small  wicket- 
door  cut  at  the  side  of  one  of  them.  A  cavity  in  the  pavement  im 
mediately  beneath  it,  bearing  resemblance  to  a  stone  shoe,  has  been 
worn  by  the  pressure  of  the  feet  of  those  who  have  for  ages  stepped 
over  this  ancient  threshold,  whose  lofty  arch  is  surmounted  with  the 
shields  of  Basset,  Yernon,  and  others,  finely  carved  in  the  stone. 

Through  this  archway  the  lower  court  is  ascended  by  a  flight  of 
very  broad  and  shallow  stone  steps,  moss-grown,  and  dinted,  to  the 
wide  area  of  the  court,  the  sight  of  whose  surrounding  buildings 
carries  the  mind  hundreds  of  years  back  to  the  days  of  the  Edwards 
and  Henrys.  The  court  slopes  greatly,  so  that  standing  at  the  low 
est  side  the  eye  looks,  as  it  were,  up  hill,  towards  the  large  church- 
looking  windows  of  the  great  hall,  which,  with  their  stained  glass,  and 
diamond  shaped  panes,  occupy  a  considerable  portion  of  the  upper 
range  of  the  buildings,  on  that  side.  Beneath  these  windows  are 
formal  beds  of  flowers  bordered  with  box,  clipped  so  squarely  as  to 
form  solid  walls  of  verdure  a  foot  or  more  in  breadth  on  the  top,  and 
smoothly  shorn  at  the  sides.  These  old  parterres  harmonize  wonder 
fully  with  all  around,  and  in  June  and  July,  are  full  of  lilies,  roses, 
and  flower-de-luce,  while  great  bushes  of  lavender  and  rosemary 
grow  at  the  corners. 

These  fine  ornaments  of  the  old  court-yard  of  Haddon  derive  ad 
ditional  interest  from  being  the  lineal  descendants  of  those  which  grew 
in  the  same  place  hundreds  of  years  ago  ;  where  Queen  Elizabeth 
herself  may  have  plucked  a  rose,  or  Mary  of  Scotland  perchance  have 
gazed  in  one  of  those  holiday  excursions  sometimes  permitted  to  her 
when  at  Chatsworth.  The  great  charm  of  Haddon,  is,  that  every 
thing  is  venerable  —  even  the  old-fashioned  flowers.  ~No  new-fangled 
ones  being  allowed  to  root  out  the  ancient  Eloras  of  the  soil,  in  the 
still  trimly  kept  and  beautiful  parterres  of  Dorothy  Yernon. 


HADDON    HALL.  97 

Although  it  is  now  verging  towards  a  century  and  a  half  since 
Haddon  was  last  inhabited,  the  whole  is  kept  in  the  most  perfect 
order  and  repair.  His  Grace  the  Duke  of  Rutland,  the  noble  pro 
prietor,  with  a  liberality  beyond  all  praise,  securing  this  stately 
abode  of  his  ancestors  not  only  from  the  havoc  of  time  and  decay, 
but  from  the  desecrating  hand  of  modern  "  improvement." 

One  side  of  this  court  is  full  of  irregularly  shaped  windows, 
turrets  and  archways  ;  some  closed,  others  open,  here  and  there 
strong  primitive  doors  swinging  ajar ;  while  over  the  whole  range 
they  occupy,  clamber  some  beautiful  old  pear  and  apricot  trees 
which  have  grown  and  flourished  year  after  year  till  they  have  be 
come  part  of  the  building  itself,  making  their  way  up  slender  towers, 
peeping  into  windows,  and  scrambling  along  grotesque  water-spouts 
in  a  manner  wonderful  to  behold,  and  most  beautiful  in  spring,  when 
the  whole  side  of  the  court  is  hung  with  their  pure  and  delicate 
blossoms.  A  curious  old  tower  with  steps  outside  it,  and  open  work 
windows  of  carved  stone,  leads  by  a  spiral  staircase  to  some  of  the 
principal  rooms.  It  has  little  chambers  on  different  landings  where 
the  earl's  pages  slept;  the  Earl  of  Rutland  in  the  olden  time.  At  the 
lowest  part  of  the  court,  in  one  of  its  extreme  angles,  a  low,  pointed 
archway,  with  a  descent  of  many  huge  steps  of  stone,  forms  the  en 
trance  to  the  chapel,  which  consists  of  a  body  and  two  aisles,  divided 
from  each  other  by  pillars  and  pointed  arches ;  one  of  the  pillars, 
a  relic  from  the  most  ancient  part  of  the  erection,  being  massive 
Saxon.  There  is  also  a  font  of  the  same  workmanship  and  period, 
probably  belonging  to  the  Avenels.  Close  by  the  altar  stands,  in  a 
niche,  a  benitier  for  holy  water.  The  windows  are  of  the  time  of 
Henry  VI.,  and  although  much  of  the  stained  glass  has  been  remov 
ed,  sufficient  remains  to  attest  their  former  beauty.  The  east  win 
dow  bears  a  Latin  inscription  in  old  English  letters  :  "  Pray  for  the 
souls  of  Richard  Vernon  and  Benedicta  his  wife,  who  made  this  in 
the  year  of  our  Lord  1427 ;"  another  window  bears  one  of  similar 
purport  with  the  name  of  Richard  Trussel,  1427.  These  windows  are 
very  thickly  curtained  with  ivy,  giving  to  the  interior  of  this  ancient 
chapel  that  solemn  gloom  which  in  a  religious  place,  so  much  con- 

13 


98  HADDON    HALL. 

duces  to  devotion,  doubly  impressive  here,  where  the  inevitable  fin 
ger  of  desolation  and  decay,  though  gently  laid,  is  yet  visible.  The 
lordly  pew  though  cushioned  and  gilded,  is  time-stained  and  tar 
nished  ;  its  high  railing  and  faded  curtains,  no  longer  needed  to 
screen  its  proud  occupants  from  the  prying  gaze  of  the  vulgar, 
rather  attracts  its  observation,  contrasting  forcibly  in  all  its  appoint 
ments  with  the  long  bare  benches  of  oak  destined  for  the  servants. 
These  are  narrow  and  most  uninviting,  rudely  carved  in  knobby  pro 
jections  at  the  back,  and  highly  polished  as  if  by  constant  use. 

Beneath  one  of  the  windows  stands  an  enormous  black  coffer  of 
solid  oak,  covered  with  bands  of  iron,  and  fastened  by  means  of 
rusty  hasps  and  staples ;  it  is  filled  with  old  family  prayer  books, 
chiefly  of  the  time  of  Elizabeth,  many  of  them  much  thumbed  and 
worn,  others  fresh  and  in  good  condition.  Near  the  pulpit,  and 
completely  overlooking  the  family  pew  to  which  it  is  almost  opposite, 
is  a  wooden  balcony,  and  at  the  back  a  small  massive  door,  which  opens 
into  a  tower  whose  stone  staircase  ascends  to  the  chapel  leads,  whence 
a  descent  is  easily  obtained  by  means  of  outside  steps  to  the  garden 
terraces,  at  whose  foot,  a  rustic  bridge  crosses  a  narrow  bend  of  the 
river  Wye  in  the  open  meadows  below. 

Here,  tradition  says,  Sir  John  Manners  used  to  lie  concealed,  and 
when  all  were  devoutly  occupied  in  the  chapel,  he,  by  the  means 
above  indicated,  having  gained  entrance  to  the  tower  aforesaid,  would 
most  irreligiously  apply  one  of  his  bright  black  eyes  to  a  small 
aperture  in  the  wall,  and  thus  command  a  view  of  his  lady-love,  the 
beautiful  Dorothy  Vernon,  while  at  her  devotions,  crowning  the 
sacrilegious  act  by  afterwards  eloping  with,  and  marrying  the  Lady 
Dorothy;  a  circumstance  made  memorable  by  this  token,  that  bril 
liant  black  eyes  are  still  the  distinguishing  mark  of  their  descend 
ants  to  this  very  day.  In  ascending  from  the  chill  and  gloomy 
chapel  into  the  open  court,  the  free  air  is  most  cheering  and  reviving, 
but  after  the  first  few  moments,  the  silence  and  utter  lifelessness  that 
prevails  is  felt  more  impressively  than  before.  Towers,  gateways, 
strange-looking  buildings  in  all  directions  ;  interior  glimpses,  too, 
present  themselves  of  melancholy  rooms,  and  dusky  corridors,  with 


HADDON    HALL.  99 

level  rays  of  sunshine,  that  seem  to  pierce  them  through  without 
lighting  up  their  contents — the  faded  tapestry  and  antique  furniture 
which  was  used  by  their  former  inhabitants,  centuries  ago. 

One  side  of  the  court  is  devoted  to  various  offices  and  apartments : 
guard-room,  chaplain's  room,  those  of  the  huntsman,  porter,  warder, 
grooms,  and  pages,  many  of  their  garments  and  weapons,  with  much 
of  their  rude  furniture  still  remaining. 

Hanging  on  the  walls  or  standing  upon  the  floors,  apparently  just 
as  their  owners  left  them,  are  several  pairs  of  prodigious  jack-boots, 
perfectly  square  at  the  toes,  and  having  long  sharp  spurs  fastened 
upon  the  heels  ;  buff -coats  of  thickest  leather,  some  of  them  pierced 
with  bullets,  steel  skull-caps  with  many  a  dint,  and  firelocks,  holster 
pistols,  and  other  warlike  implements  in  great  profusion,  some  of 
them  very  curious  in  construction,  and  all  of  ancient  date. 

A  great  quantity  of  armour  formerly  occupied  a  large  room  in 
the  inner  quadrangle,  but  it  has  been  removed  to  Belvoir  Castle, 
together  with  many  other  reliques  of  Iladdon's  former  splendour.  In 
one  of  the  offices  is  an  immense  pile  of  pewter  platters,  or  rather 
gigantic  soup  plates  ;  a  chicken  on  the  very  smallest  of  them,  would 
appear  a  morsel.  Directly  opposite  these  inferior  apartments,  stands 
an  open  porch  with  stone  seats,  and  leaning  against  its  wall  a  Roman 
altar  dug  up  in  the  vicinity  some  centuries  ago,  the  inscription  ac 
cording  to  Camden  is 


Over  the  ample  entrance  arch  of  this  noble  porch  are  two  shields 
of  arms  beautifully  cut  in  stone,  the  one  being  the  coat  of  Yernon, 
the  other  of  Fulco  de  Pembrugc,  Lord  of  Tonge,  in  Shropshire. 
This  is  the  entrance  to  the  grand  hall,  which,  paved  with  large  slabs 
of  sandstone,  and  having  overhead  a  massive  and  intricate  tracery 


100  H ADDON    HALL. 

composed  of  the  joists,  beams,  rafters,  and  otlier  supports  of  the 
roof,  all  blackened  with  smoke  and  age,  at  once  gives  the  spectator 
the  impression  that  he  stands  within  the  banquet  hall  of  Saxon  Thane, 
or  Xorman  Baron,  nor,  probably,  would  the  idea  be  erroneous,  for 
this  portion  of  Haddon  is,  with  the  exception  of  the  chapel  and 
Eagle  Tower,  more  ancient  than  any  other  part  of  the  edifice.  At 
the  upper  end  of  the  hall  is  a  raised  floor,  or  dais,  which  extends  en 
tirely  across  its  whole  breadth,  and  is  occupied  by  a  table  of  its  own 
length,  composed  of  thick  beams  of  oak  riddled  with  worm-holes, 
supported  on  strong  trestles,  and  surrounded  by  benches  of  the  same 
rude  workmanship  and  solid  material.  Around  this  rugged  table 
in  former  days  sat  the  lord  of  the  castle  and  his  principal  guests, 
whilst  at  other  tables  below  the  dais,  and  running  lengthwise 
from  it  down  the  hall,  those  of  lower  rank  were  accommodated 
with  less  sumptuous  fare,  and  beverage  of  a  more  homely 
kind. 

Round  two  sides  of  the  hall,  at  the  height  of  what  in  modern 
houses  would  be  called  the  first  story,  runs  a  wide  wainscotted  gallery 
for  musicians  and  spectators,  often,  during  the  days  of  Sir  George 
Yernon,  crowded  with  lords  and  knights,  noble  ladies  and  demoiselles, 
to  behold  the  masqueings,  interludes,  and  revels  carried  on  in  the  hall 
below.  That  Haddon  was  frequently  enlivened  by  such  scenes  may 
readily  be  imagined,  when  it  is  remembered  that  Prince  Arthur, 
eldest  son  of  Henry  the  Seventh,  spent  much  time  here  with  Sir 
Henry  Vernon,  who  was  his  governor.  The  portraits  of  Henry  VII. 
and  his  queen  Elizabeth  of  York,  of  Henry  YIIL,  and  his  jester 
"Will  Somers,  and  many  otlier  distinguished  personages  carved  in  the 
panels  of  the  drawing-room,  dining-room,  and  many  of  the  cham 
bers,  give  the  reasonable  belief  that  they  were  familiarly  known  at 
Haddon.  The  ample  accommodation  afforded  in  its  long  suites  of 
apartments  and  numerous  nests  of  rooms  of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  serves 
to  confirm  this,  and  it  seems  certain  that  during  the  reigns  of  Henry 
VIL,  Henry  YIIL,  and  Queen  Elizabeth,  those  personages,  their 
families,  and  many  of  their  courtiers  trod  a  measure  in  the  grand 
ball-room  or  feasted  merrily  in  the  old  hall  with  its  huge  black 


IIADDON    HALL. 


rafters  overhead,  and  its  stone  pavement  covered  with,  rushes  or  rich 
carpets  beneath  their  feet. 

This  ancient  hall  lias  two  doorways  :  close  to  one  of  them  stands 
an  old  beaufet,  curiously  carved,  while  on  the  wainscot  above  it  are 
two  enormous  antlers,  and  beside  them,  about  seven  or  eight  feet  from 
the  ground,  some  iron  bracelets  of  peculiar  construction,  formerly 
used  for  the  purpose  of  suspending  any  one  by  the  wrist,  and  pouring 
down  his  sleeve  a  cup  of  cold  water,  who  had  been  guilty  of  refusing 
to  drink  his  allowance  of  strong  ale.  Tradition  also  attributes  sterner 
uses  to  this  fixture  in  cases  of  more  serious  offence.  A  great  oaken 
screen  which  extends  entirely  across  the  hall  detracts  much  from 
the  general  effect  of  that  noble  apartment,  though  it  must  be  con 
fessed  that  it  has  its  important  uses,  amongst  which  may  be  reckoned 
that,  of  excluding  from  view  several  long  dark  alleys,  which,  directly 
opening  from  one  end  of  it,  and  unprovided  with  doors,  run  down  a 
steep  descent  into  the  fiery  regions  of  the  kitchen.  This  is  always  a 
grand  focus  of  attraction  to  all  married  ladies  and  good  housewives. 
Down  the  old  black  passages  they  wend  their  way  delightedly  ;  as 
with  assured  steps  and  pleasant  countenances  they  thread  the  windings 
of  this  culinary  labyrinth,  consisting  of  many  dens  and  crooked  holes 
surrounding  the  principal  kitchen,  which  resembles  a  large  brown 
vault,  with  iron-barred  windows  all  around  the  upper  part  of  its  walls, 
and  having  in  the  centre  of  its  floor  as  a  huge  chopping-block,  the 
solid  trunk  of  a  large  tree,  on  which  an  ox  might  lie  at  its  ease,  the 
grates,  two  in  number,  being  each  ample  enough  to  roast  the  same. 
Stoves  in  great  number,  and  double  rows  of  dressers,  are  all  that  now 
remain  in  the  kitchen.  These  dressers  have  great  hollows  in  them 
like  bowls.  This  effect  is  always  pointed  out  as  having  been  pro 
duced  by  chopping  the  mincemeat.  Could  the  said  bowls  or  hollows 
reflect  the  brightness  of  all  the  ladies'  eyes  which  have  looked 
pleasantly  into  them  at  that  announcement,  what  a  sight  were  there! 
The  traditions  of  these  regions  of  good  cheer  are  very  hospitable  and 
agreeable,  all  tending  to  confirm  the  idea  that  most  noble  house 
keeping  was  one  of  the  golden  rules  observed  at  Iladdon.  Adjoin 
ing  the  kitchen  is  a  complete  suite  of  larders  ;  salting-rooms,  drying- 


102  HADDON    HALL. 

rooms  and  other  nondescript  retreats,  furnished  with  great  troughs 
formed  of  the  trunks  of  trees.  There  are  also  many  apartments  of 
various  sizes  suitable  for  every  rank.  In  returning  from  this  once 
densely  populated  part  of  the  mansion,  along  the  steep  dark  passage, 
it  may  now  be  perceived  that  it  has  a  half  door,  or  "  hatch,"  with  a 
broad  shelf  on  the  top,  which  door  when  closed  forms  a  barrier  across 
the  passage  ;  it  is  directly  opposite  one  of  the  doors  in  the  hall  screen, 
serving  as  a  landing-place  for  the  various  dishes  of  the  feast,  whence 
they  were  transferred  to  the  great  hall  by  the  sewer  and  his  atten 
dants,  preceded  on  grand  occasions  with  the  sound  of  trumpets. 

In  recrossing  the  old  hall,  the  mind  which  loves  to  contemplate 
antiquity  takes  in  more  and  more  of  satisfaction  and  pleasure ;  scenes 
pourtrayed  by  the  historian,  the  poet,  and  the  novelist  pass  vividly 
before  it,  and  are  more  fully  understood  and  appreciated;  the  whole 
air  and  aspect  of  the  place  belonging  to  the  earliest  times,  and  being 
in  itself  a  history.  From  one  corner  of  the  hall,  opens  a  short  pas 
sage,  paved  with  huge  blocks  of  sand-stone ;  it  leads  to  the  garden 
terrace,  and  also  to  a  grand  dining-room  wainscotted  with  dark  oak, 
enriched  by  a  broad  border  of  carved  shields,  bearing  the  arms  of 
Yernon,  Avenel,  Pierrepont,  and  others  ;  with  the  boar's  head  (the 
Vernon  crest)  carved ;  portraits  of  Henry  VII.  and  his  queen,  besides 
an  infinite  number  of  devices  and  decorations.  Over  the  fire-place, 
which  has  most  curious  open  worked  andirons  and  fender,  is  finely 
carved  in  the  oak  panel  in  large  Old  English  letters,  "  Drede  God, 
and  Honor  the  King."  It  is  surmounted  by  the  royal  arms,  and  is 
accompanied  by  the  names  of  Sir  George  Vernon  and  his  lady,  with 
the  date  1545.  The  portrait  of  Will  Somers  is  also  carved  on  the 
wainscot  of  this  room,  which  is  worthy  of  particular  notice  on  ac 
count  of  the  multiplicity  of  its  ornaments,  all  bearing  the  regal  and 
feudal  stamp.  A  bronze  wine-cooler  of  great  size,  some  curious 
old  coronation  chairs,  whose  cushions  seem  filled  with  the  very  softest 
down ;  and  last  though  not  least,  a  most  capacious  family  cradle — 
are  amongst  the  numerous  objects  of  interest  contained  in  this 
apartment. 

The  windows,  once  filled  with  richly  stained  glass,  only  retain  a 


HADDON    HALL.  103 

few  specimens  of  it,  the  rest  being  plain.  Adjoining  this  room 
are  several  others,  designated  "The  Earl's  chambers."  All  of  them 
hung  with  ancient  arras  representing  Scriptural  subjects  and  field 
sports,  in  which  the  dogs  are  clothed  in  armour,  with  projecting  spikes, 
implying  that  they  had  been  engaged  in  boar  hunting. 

The  doors  are  everywhere  concealed  by  tapestry  hangings 
which  had  to  be  drawn  aside  by  the  person  entering,  and  either  fell 
down  again  over  the  doorway,  or  were  fastened  back  on  great  hooks 
in  the  wall.  A  stranger,  on  entering  such  an  apartment,  unless  he 
narrowly  scrutinized  the  pattern  of  the  tapestry  which  fell  over  the 
door  as  it  closed  behind  him,  would  experience  no  little  difficulty  in 
finding  his  way  out  again,  a  circumstance  often  treacherously  taken 
advantage  of  during  the  Middle  Ages.  This  little  suite  of  "  Earl's 
chambers  "  is  very  pretty,  each  room  being  smaller  than  the  other, 
till  the  last  comprises  only  the  space  within  a  slender  tower,  whose 
spiral  stone  steps  descend  outside  of  it  into  the  first  court,  and  inside, 
conduct  to  a  great  elevation,  with  very  small  rooms  on  every  landing, 
till  at  last  egress  is  found  on  the  leads.  Emerging  on  them,  an 
assemblage  of  towers  of  all  sizes,  with  long  lines  of  leaden  roofs, 
astonish  not  less  by  their  number  and  extent  than  by  the  picturesque 
effect  they  produce  amidst  the  surrounding  scenery  of  richly  wood 
ed  hills  and  valleys,  the  bright  and  winding  river  Wye  gliding 
with  a  continual  murmur  in  the  midst,  in  a  perfectly  serpentine 
course,  whilst  immediately  beneath  lie  the  stately  gardens,  terrace 
after  terrace,  balustraded  and  embanked,  having  noble  flights  of 
white  stone  steps  to  each  of  them,  leading  from  the  river  low  down 
in  the  valley,  close  up  to  the  walls  of  the  ancient  mansion.  There 
is  an  inconceivable  charm  in  the  gardens  of  Hacldon,  its  long  broad 
avenues  and  spaces  of  green  sward  crossing  each  other  at  wide  inter 
vals  ;  its  excess  of  dark  and  solemn  foliage  permitting  a  thousand  beau 
tiful  effects  under  varying  skies  and  seasons,  and  above  all,  the  magic 
stillness — broken  only  in  summer  by  the  warbling  of  birds,  and  the  mur 
muring  of  the  river,  and  in  winter  by  the  sough  of  the  wind  howling 
through  the  snow-covered  courts  and  pleached  alleys.  The  following 
lines  were  written  after  a  stroll  through  this  most  delightful  old  domain. 


H  ADDON   HALL. 

ADDON,  within  thy  silent  halls, 

Deserted  courts,  and  turrets  high, 
How  mournfully  on  memory  falls 
The  light  of  antique  pageantry. 

A  holy  spell  pervades  thy  gloom, 
A  silent  charm  breathes  all  around  ; 

And  the  dread  stillness  of  the  tomb 

Reigns  o'er  thy  hallowed  haunted  ground. 


Where  be  the  high  and  stately  dames, 
Of  princely  Vernon's  bannered  hall  ? 

And  where  the  Knights,  and  what  their  names, 
Who  led  them  forth  to  Festival  ? 

Arise  !  ye  mighty  Dead  !  arise ! 

Can  Vernon,  Rutland,  Stanley  sleep, 
Whose  gallant  hearts  and  eagle  eyes, 

Disdained  alike  to  crouch  or  weep  ? 

They  slumber  lowly  in  the  dust ; 

Prostrate  and  fallen  the  mighty  lie ; 
The  warrior'*  sword  is  dim  with  rust ; 

Quenched  is  the  light  of  beauty's  eye. 

Those  arms  which  once  blazed  thro'  the  field, 
Their  brightness  never  shall  resume  ; 

O'er  spear  and  helm,  and  broken  shield, 
Low  droops  the  faded  sullied  plume. 

King  of  the  Peak !  thy  hearth  is  lone, 
No  sword-girt  vassals  gather  there  : 

No  minstrel's  harp  pours  forth  its  tone, 
In  praise  of  Maude,  or  Margaret  fair — • 


IIABDON    HALL.  1Q5 

No  hunter's  horn  is  hoard  to  sound, 

No  dame  with  swan-like  mien  glides  by, 
Accompanied  with  hawk  and  hound, 

On  her  fair  palfrey  joyously. 

Pair  Iladdon's  sun  has  set  in  night : — 

Yet  gentler,  holier,  more  subdued 
Than  garish  day's  more  dazzling  light 

Its  moonlit  garden's  solitude. 


From  the  enchanting  prospect  on  the  leads  it  is  necessary  to  re 
trace  the  lonely  and  dimly-lighted  chambers  previously  described, 
in  order  to  gain  access  to  the  grand  staircase,  opening  on  which  is 
the  drawing-room,  decorated  much  like  the  dining-room,  but  in  ad 
dition  exhibiting  the  Prince  of  Wales'  plume,  motto,  and  initials — 
E.  P.  ;  adjoining  this  room  are  many  others  extending  far  into  the 
building,  while  directly  opposite  the  door,  are  six  very  large  and 
broad  semicircular  steps  of  solid  oak,  which  ascend  to  the  long  gal 
lery,  a  noble  apartment  one  hundred  and  nine  and  a  half  feet  long, 
eighteen  feet  wide  and  fifteen  feet  high.  The  flooring  is  of  solid  oak, 
which,  as  well  as  the  steps,  is  affirmed  to  have  been  cut  from  a  single 
tree  which  grew  in  the  park.  The  wainscotting  is  likewise  of  oak, 
decorated  with  Corinthian  pilasters,  over  which  are  arches,  and 
between  the  arches  are  the  shields  of  the  arms  of  Manners  impaling 
those  of  Yernon.  The  frieze  is  ornamented  with  rich  carvings  of 
the  boar's  head  crest  of  Vernon,  the  peacock  crest  of  Manners,  this 
tles,  roses,  portcullises,  and  other  royal  and  noble  heraldic  emblems 
and  devices  belonging  to  the  family.  Along  one  side  of  this  immense 
apartment  are  spacious  bay-wrindows,  each  affording  a  deep  semicir 
cular  recess,  the  centre  one  being  larger  than  the  others.  They  all 
overlook  the  garden  terraces,  as  represented  in  the  engraving  which 
accompanies  this  article  :  they  are  beautifully  ornamented  with 
stained  glass  depicting  the  arms  of  Rutland,  Vernon,  Shrewsbury, 
and  the  royal  arms  of  England,  and  are  garlanded  with  climbing 
roses,  honeysuckles,  and  ivy,  in  great  profusion.  Many  other  large 

U 


1(JG  H ADDON    HALL 

windows  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  gallery  and  at  the  upper  end 
are  similarly  adorned. 

Queen  Elizabeth  is  said  to  have  been  a  guest  of  the  King  of  the 
Peak,  at  Haddon,  when  this  room  was  first  used,  and  to  have  trode 
a  measure  with  him,  "  high  and  disposedly,"  on  that  festive  occasion. 
A  scene  more  suitable  for  such  a  display  can  hardly  be  imagined. 
The  portrait  of  her  Majesty  in  a  great  scarlet  hoop,  farthingale,  and 
ruff,  is  over  one  of  the  doors.  One  very  singular  ornament  finds 
place  in  this  regal  apartment — a  cast  of  the  head  of  the  celebrated 
Lady  Dorothy  Yernon  before  named,  the  daughter  of  Sir  George ; 
one  of  the  greatest  beauties  of  her  time,  but  who,  in  life,  valued  her 
charms  so  little  as  never  to  have  consented  to  sit  to  sculptor  or 
painter.  The  cast  was  taken  after  death  with  the  swathing  drapery 
bandaged  around  it — and  presents  a  truly  cadaverous  object.  This 
is  the  more  to  be  regretted,  as  she  is  the  heroine  of  Haddon  whose 
marriage  with  Sir  John  Manners  brought  it  into  the  Rutland  family, 
the  present  duke  being  their  lineal  descendant. 

Sir  John  is  invested  by  tradition  with  all  that  is  most  captivating 
to  maiden's  eye  and  maiden's  heart ;  and  few  are  they,  amongst 
those  of  Derbyshire,  who  think  the  Lady  Dorothy  did  anything  but 
wrhat  was  "  wisest,  virtuousest,  discreetest,  best,"  in  eloping  with  so 
gallant  a  knight.  It  is  said,  that  for  the  love  he  bore  her,  lie  lurked 
in  the  wroods  around  Haddon  for  months  previous  to  the  night 
of  the  grand  masqued  ball ;  when,  after  mingling  unknown  amongst 
the  company,  he  met  the  Lady  Dorothy  at  the  door  of  her  chamber, 
which  opened  on  the  garden,  "  and  bore  her  away  for  his  bride." 
The  door  through  which  she  made  her  escape  is  still  shown,  and  the 
avenue  of  lime-trees  along  which  the  lovers  flew  towards  the  open 
fields  is  honored  with  the  title  of  "  The  Lady  Dorothy's  Walk." 

It  contains  but  few  pictures ;  one,  however,  shines  conspicuous ; 
it  is  a  fine  portrait  of  Thomas,  the  first  Earl  of  Rutland ;  he 
is  strikingly  handsome.  At  the  upper  end  of  the  gallery  is  the 
entrance  to  the  ante-room  of  the  state  bed-chamber ;  both  are 
adorned  with  friezes  and  cornices  of  boars'  heads  and  peacocks  al 
ternately — and  also  with  several  good  pictures  of  Queen  Elizabeth, 


IIADDON    HALL.  107 

Charles  I.,  Prince  Rupert,  and  Prince  Maurice,  by  Van  Dyck.  In 
the  bed-room  is  a  large  bas-relievo  of  Orpheus  charming  the  animals 
with  his  lyre  :  while  opposite  to  it,  in  a  spacious  oriel  which  is  raised 
a  few  steps  from  the  level  of  the  floor,  is  a  large  antique  mirror  in  a 
very  curious  frame,  and  several  old-fashioned  chairs.  In  the  centre 
of  the  room,  on  a  floor  of  hard  plaster  partially  covered  by  a  carpet, 
stands  the  state  bed  of  green  velvet  lined  with  white  satin,  golden 
hned  with  age.  The  velvet  curtains  hang  in  heavy  folds,  surmounted 
at  the  top  by  large  white  plumes.  The  white  satin  coverlet,  elabo 
rately  ornamented  with  needlework  of  silk  and  gold,  has  the  letters 
K.  R.  embroidered  in  the  centre ;  the  whole  is  said  to  have  been 
the  work  of  Eleanor,  co-heiress  of  Lord  Roos,  who  became  the  wife 
of  Sir  Robert  Manners  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VI.,  and  brought  the 
princely  domain  of  Belvoir  as  her  marriage  portion.  This  room  is 
hung  with  Gobelin  tapestry  of  brilliant  colours — the  subjects  from 
JEsop's  Fables.  Close  to  the  side  of  the  bed  is  a  door  concealed  by 
the  tapestry.  When  opened,  it  swings  heavily  back  upon  the  stone 
steps  of  a  tower  of  great  height,  with  small  rooms  on  every  landing- 
place.  A  corresponding  door  in  its  wall,  directly  opposite  the  one 
near  the  bed,  opens  on  the  terraced  side  of  the  hill,  which  is  covered 
with  trees. 

Nearly  all  the  rooms  of  Iladdon  are  hung  with  tapestry,  some  of 
it  very  fine.  The  doors  concealed  beneath  it  are  often  only  bare 
boards  fastened  together  with  great  nails,  and  having  for  fastenings 
iron  bars,  wooden  bolts,  hasps,  or  staples.  The  walls  which  it  covers 
are  of  the  roughest  masonry,  seldom  plastered,  and  resembling  the 
outside  wall  of  some  common  barn. 

The  Eagle  Tower  is  loftier  than  all  the  rest,  and  is  supposed  to 
have  been  the  keep  of  some  more  ancient  edifice.  In  one  of  its  small 
rooms  on  the  leads  is  a  frame  formerly  used  for  stringing  the  bows. 
This  tower  is  circular,  and  contains  a  spiral  staircase,  with  nume 
rous  chambers  at  different  elevations,  which  are  supposed  to  have 
been  occupied  at  some  remote  period  by  the  family  and  its  retainers. 

Nearly  all  the  rooms  in  Iladdon  are  very  gloomy,  the  greater 
number  having  seldom  more  than  one  window  with  small  leaded 


10$  IIADDON    HALL. 

panes  deeply  set  in  the  thickness  of  the  enormous  wall,  and  placed 
very  high.  Though  extremely  comfortless,  according  to  the  luxurious 
ideas  of  modern  times,  yet  this  place  was  for  ages  renowned  for  its 
hospitality  and  magnificence. 

The  boar's  head  was  served  up  every  Christmas  with  great  pomp, 
garnished  with  sprigs  of  rosemary,  and  ushered  in  with  a  song,  the 
sound  of  trumpets,  and  minstrelsy ;  it  was  received  with  high  honour 
and  reverence  as  the  chief  dish,  but  instead  of  being  devoured  like 
the  other  substantial  viands  which  accompanied  it  to  the  festive 
board,  it  was  reserved  to  grace  the  sideboard  during  the  twelve  days 
after  Christmas. 

Until  within  the  last  few  years  one  of  the  chief  attractions  of 
Iladdon  Hall  was  Mistress  Dorothy  Ilage,  its  hereditary  and  most 
honoured  housekeeper,  whose  fine  antique  appearance  corresponded 
so  completely  with  the  old  feudal  pile  of  which  she  was  the  tutelary 
guardian  and  cicerone,  that  she  seemed  to  those  whom  she  attended 
in  that  capacity,  more  like  one  of  the  old  family  pictures  reanimated, 
than  a  personage  of  flesh  and  blood.  Tall  and  gaunt,  with  aquiline 
features,  clear  brown  complexion,  and  eyes  like  a  mountain  eagle, 
Mistress  Dorothy,  who  in  her  youth  had  been  very  handsome,  still 
retained  at  a  very  advanced  age  many  of  the  tricks  of  beauty  :  bri 
dling  her  long  neck,  and  casting  down  her  eyes  with  a  meek  purring 
look,  when  pleased,  or  flashing  awful  glances  of  scorn  and  displeasure 
at  those  who  dared  to  undervalue  anything  that  had  belonged  to  the 
Ver-nons,  which  name  pronounced  by  her  in  two  prolonged  syllables 
in  a  sonorous  tone  was  truly  imposing,  the  ear  vibrated  beneath  its 
weight,  as  with  solemn  cadence,  it  perpetually  recurred  in  the  slow 
and  measured  description  which,  in  raven  tones,  she  was  wont  to 
give  of  the  former  glories  of  Iladdon.  Quaintly  habited  in  long 
wasp-waisted  gown  with  stiff  skirt  of  great  amplitude,  having  on  her 
head  a  small  Phrygian-shaped  bonnet  or  cowl  of  black  silk,  and 
holding  in  her  hand  a  bunch  of  strange-looking  keys,  she  walked 
with  erect  figure  before  the  stranger  through  the  old  halls  and  courts 
of  Iladdon,  like  one  of  its  former  inhabitants.  A  few  pithy  words 
oracularly  delivered,  with  an  occasional  lifting  of  the  long,  lean  arm 


IIADDON  HALL. 


109 


to  point  out  some  object  under  description,  included  all  her  display 
of  oratory.  Woe  to  the  thoughtless  maiden  who  should  be  observed 
snipping  a  morsel  of  fringe  or  tapestry  to  carry  home  as  a  relic ;  woe 
to  the  reckless  youth  who  should  presume  to  race  through  the  Long 
Gallery.  These  were  offences  which  bore  clown  her  philosophy,  and 
invariably  resulted  in  the  summary  and  ignominious  ejectment  of 
the  culprit.  Her  phraseology  was  peculiar.  The  late  beautiful  and 
highly-gifted  Duchess  of  Rutland,  with  whom  she  was  a  great  favour 
ite,  was  always  styled  by  her  "  Our  Dame  the  Duchess,"  and  the 
duke,  "  Our  Master  the  Duke."  This  fine  old  specimen  of  feudal 
attachment  and  honest  worth,  died  at  a  very  advanced  age  at  Iladdon, 
—having  never  been  more  than  a  few  miles  from  it" in  the  whole 
course  of  her  life. 


MEMORIES    OP    FRIENDS. 

Bright  spirits  leave  their  foot-prints  on  the  heart, 

Where  flow'rets  spring  'neath  memory's  star  serene — 

Their  perfume  thoughts,  that  tenderly  impart 

"What  once  they  were,  what  now  they  might  have  been, 

But  that  the  rich  reward  to  virtue  given, 

Though  earned  on  earth,  must  be  bestowed  in  Heaven. 


X 


7 


EVENINGS    AT  THE    HOUSE    OF    SIR    THOMAS    LAWRENCE. 

IME,  which  commits  such  terrible 
depredations  on  all  we  possess,  good- 
naturedly,  however,  leaves  to  us  a 
few  of  the  best  and  dearest  of  our 
recollections  for  future  consolation. 
Amongst  those  I  still  cherish,  are 
some  delightful  evenings  at  the 
house  of  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence. 
Who  has  not  heard  of  that  exqui 
site  painter  ?  He,  who  unsurpass- 


EVENINGS   AT   THE    HOUSE    OF    SIR    THOMAS    LAWRENCE. 

ed  in  the  delineation  of  all  we  hold  most  refined  and  rare  in  por 
traiture — the  immortal  mind  beaming  through  the  face — combined 
in  himself  the  most  noble  and  manly  goodness  with  almost  more 
than  feminine  gentleness  of  thought  and  manner ;  distinguished  no 
less  for  his  excellence  as  an  artist  than  for  those  kindly  and  genial 
qualities  which  made  him  the  most  charming  of  friends  and  compa 
nions. 

At  the  time  I  allude  to,  he  was  at  the  zenith  of  his  fame.  His 
portraits  of  Lady  Blessington,  Lady  Belgrave,  Lady  "Waldegrave,  the 
two  children  of  Captain  Calmady,  together  with  hundreds  of  others, 
of  world-wide  reputation,  adorned  the  walls  of  Somerset  House  in 
London  at  the  annual  exhibition.  Royalty  and  nobility  alike  de 
lighted  to  do  him  honour,  and  his  friends  rejoiced  at  his  success  as  if 
it  had  been  their  own.  The  interior  of  his  house,  devoted  to  the 
purposes  of  art,  comprised  many  apartments  of  great  size  and  lofti 
ness  ;  the  light  falling  brokenly  on  huge  colossal  forms  of  antiquity, 
discoloured  by  time,  grand  and  imposing  in  their  proportions  and 
attitudes.  The  Laocoon,  the  Apollo  Belvidere,  Diana,  the  Venus  de 
Medicis,  the  Sleeping  Faun,  the  Muses,  the  Graces,  and  busts  innu 
merable  mounted  on  columns  or  plinths,  were  intermingled  with  tor 
sos,  vases,  and  other  objects  of  interest  to  the  architect,  sculptor,  and 
painter,  while  gigantic  fragments  of  friezes,  bassi-relievi,  capitals  of 
columns,  and  richly-carved  mural  ornaments,  were  inserted  into  the 
lofty  walls,  covering  them  from  floor  to  ceiling.  Etruria,  Greece, 
and  Koine,  Assyria  and  ancient  Egypt,  were  all  brought  perpetually 
before  the  mind  in  these  shattered  fragments  and  discoloured  mar 
bles — leaving  upon  it  vestiges  of  their  once  proud  cities  and  sacred 
temples,  silent  and  desecrated. 

From  amidst  these  relics  of  bygone  races  and  ancient  times, 
came  forth  the  modern  master  ;  unlike,  but  yet  in  harmony  with,  all 
around  him.  Of  middle  height,  slight,  but  well-proportioned,  and 
with  a  head  and  face  resembling  some  pale  and  beautiful  portrait  of 
the  old  masters.  The  bright  grey  eyes  shining  kindly  on  those  with 
whom  he  conversed ;  the  serene  and  classic  features,  though  perfect 
ly  colourless,  full  of  grace  and  expression,  irradiated  as  though  from 


EVENINGS    AT    THE    HOUSE    OF    SIR    THOMAS    LAWRENCE.  H3 

a  light  within,  that — whilst  impressing  the  beholder  with  a  sense  of 
intellect  and  benevolence — gave  the  additional  idea  of  sincerity  to 
the  murmured  tones  and  deferential  courtesy  of  manner  with  which, 
from  early  and  habitual  association  with  the  great,  it  was  the  invari 
able  custom  of  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence  to  address  even  his  most  inti 
mate  friends.  Seated  at  a  table,  under  a  blaze  of  light,  were  the 
venerable  painter  Stothard,  William  Young  Ottley,  so  well  known 
for  his  devotion  to  art,  and  his  admirable  History  of  Engraving,  and 
a  few  other  attached  friends,  who,  together  with  our  accomplished 
host,  were  soon  deeply  engaged  in  an  apparently  microscopic  exa 
mination  of  drawings  by  the  old  masters  with  which  the  table  was 
strewed,  while  portfolio  after  portfolio  yielded  up  its  treasures  to 
their  unsated  eyes ; — the  glorious  drawings  and  sketches  of  Michael 
Angelo  and  Raffaelle,  Titian  and  Correggio — of  Leonardo  da  Vinci, 
Sebastian  del  Piombo,  and  a  host  of  others,  passing  in  review  before 
them,  receiving  those  sweeping  bursts  of  admiration,  and  that  sharp 
fire  of  critical  comment,  which  artists  are  wont  to  bestow. 

Sometimes,  Ottley  would  start  up  in  a  sort  of  rapture  holding  at 
arm's  length  some  fluttering  scrap  of  paper,  and  with  eyes  blazing 
with  enthusiasm  would  exclaim  :  "  Good  God !  what  a  line  !  By 
heavens,  what  drawing!  whose  hand  but  that  of  Raffaelle  cou/^have 
given  such  a  turn  to  that  head  ?  such  a  divine  expression  to  that 
face  ?"  Then  sinking  back  in  his  chair,  and  taking  enormous  pinches 
of  snuff  in  quick  succession,  he  would  shut  his  eyes  for  a  moment 
or  two,  as  if  in  reverie  pursuing  the  delightful  cointemplation  ;  soon 
rousing  himself,  when  running  his  fingers  through  his  hair,  he  would 
pounce  upon  some  other  subject,  enlarging  upon  it  with  as  much 
fervour  and  volubility  as  ever. 

Between  these  outbursts  he  would  tell  delightful  stories  of  Rome, 
Bologna,  Venice,  Ferrara — all  the  old  continental  places,  with  whose 
history  and  treasures  a  long  residence  and  many  studious  years  had 
made  him  familiar,  of  pictures  rescued  from  oblivion,  of  bassi-relievi 
mouldering  in  ancient  cloisters,  which  his  own  hands  had  disinterred  ; 
of  missals,  old  crucifixes,  chalices,  rings — and  all  the  circumstances 
which  gave  them  value  and  interest,  plentifully  sprinkled  with  ancc- 

15 


EVrENINOS    AT    THE    HOUSE    OF    SIR    THOMAS    LAWRENCE. 


dotes  of  monks,  librarians,  and  oddities  of  all  descriptions,  which 
had  enlivened  and  enriched  his  foreign  sojourn  in  those  delightful 
regions ;  when  expatiating  upon  them,  his  manner  and  language  had 


EVENINGS    AT    THE    HOUSE    OF    SIR    THOMAS    LAWRENCE.  H5 

all  the  glow  and  exhilaration  of  Italy — that  real  love  and  feeling  for 
what  he  praised,  which  made  the  listener  behold  with  the  eyes  of 
the  narrator  the  glorious  productions  he  so  eloquently  described. 
This  was  particularly  the  case  when  extolling  the  Madonna  of  Cor- 
reggio  in  the  Tribune  at  Florence,  a  slight  engraving  of  which  is 
here  given. 

Eichardson,  who  published  in  1722  "  An  Account  of  the  Statues. 
Bas-reliefs,  Drawings,  and  Pictures  in  Italy,"  describes  this  master 
piece  with  the  same  boundless  admiration.  His  genuine  feeling  for 
Art  cannot  fail  to  find  favour  with  those  by  whom  the  immortal 
works  of  the  children  of  genius  are  held  dear.  lie  thus  describes 
it: 

"  A  Madonna  preserved,  as  when  'twas  first  done  :  she  kneels, 
and  adores  the  Christ  which  lies  upon  the  ground,  her  hands  a  little 
asunder,  and  her  face  nearly  profile  ;  the  figure,  if  standing,  would 
be  about  two  foot  high.  I  have  seen  many  copies.  This,  as  most 
of  this  amiable  master,  has  with  its  beauties  great  faults.  The  dra 
pery  is  certainly  invention ;  but  neither  shows  the  limbs  well,  nor  is 
in  beautiful  folds  ;  part  of  it  is  over  the  Yirgin's  head,  and  falling 
down  on  the  ground ;  on  the  end  of  which  the  child  is  laid  so  that 
she  cannot  rise  or  hardly  stir  till  he  is  removed. 

"  But  the  Beauty  !  the  Morbidezza !  the  Thought  and  Expres 
sion  !  Good  God!" 

Equally  fervent  was  the  language  of  Mr.  Ottley  ;  Stothard,  the 
while,  listening  with  all  the  simplicity  and  earnestness  of  a  child,  evi 
dently  penetrated  with  delight,  and  giving  his  whole  soul  to  the 
narrator ;  well  satisfied  to  bask  peacefully  and  joyfully  in  that  ardent 
glow  of  mind,  which,  however  deeply  participating  in,  he  himself 
would  never  have  found  boldness  to  express.  A  short  little  laugh, 
now  and  then,  or  a  lengthened  questioning  "  a-ha  ?"  being  his  prin 
cipal  demonstrations  on  the  present  occasion.  Sir  Thomas  contri 
buted  largely  to  the  universal  pleasure  by  anecdote  and  illustration,  at 
once  prompting  and  ministering  to  the  intellectual  appetites  of  his 
guests.  After  a  great  number  of  choice  and  costly  drawings  of  eve 
ry  school  and  age  had  been  examined,  and  laid  aside,  turning  to  Mr. 


116 


EVENINGS    AT    THE    HOUSE    OF    SIR   THOMAS    LAWRENCE. 


Ottley  lie  said,  "  Now,  Ottley,  I  am  going  to  introduce  you  to  an  old 
friend."  At  the  same  time  stepping  aside  to  the  pedestal  whereon 
stood  the  Yenus  de  Medicis,  he  opened  it,  and  bringing  from  it  a 
picture  about  a  foot  square,  stood  in  front  of  Ottley,  holding  the 
lack  of  the  picture  before  the  face  of  the  latter;  then,  suddenly 
flashing  it  round,  saying,  "  Look  there"  exhibited  to  the  astonished 
eyes  of  his  friend  the  small  and  exquisite  picture  of  the  Three 
Graces,  by  llaffaelle.  The  effect  was  electric.  "  Is  it  it  f  Is  it  it  ?" 


was  all  Ottley  could  gasp  out,  with  a  wild  agitation  of  manner  in 
conceivable  to  those  who  are  in  the  habit  of  repressing  their  emotions, 
or  of  never  feeling  any,  in  regard  to  such  subjects.  But  in  Ottley 
the  excitement  of  Art  was  a  kind  of  frenzy,  the  more  striking  when 
seen  in  contrast  with  the  bland  tones  and  placid  countenance  of  our 
entertainer.  The  faint  outline  of  these  figures  here  given  on  a  re 
duced  scale  is  copied  from  a  very  rare  engraving  by  I.  K.  Sherwin, 


EVENINGS    AT    THE    HOUSE    OF    Silt    THOMAS    LAWKENCE.  Hf 

which  engraving  is  infinitely  finer,  both  in  drawing  and  expression, 
although  less  effective  in  light  and  shadow,  than  the  modern  French 
print  by  Forster.  The  details  which  were  entered  into  respecting 
the  manner  in  which  Sir  Thomas  became  the  possessor  of  this  price 
less  treasure,  which  Mr.  Ottley  had  last  seen  in  some  old  palazzo  or 
convent  in  Rome,  of  which  it  then  formed  the  pride  and  ornament, 
and  the  amount  of  the  very  large  sum  for  which  it  had  been  pur 
chased,  I  do  not  now  remember. 

Raffaelle  was  indebted  to  an  ancient  bas-relief  still  existing  in 
Home  for  the  attitude  of  his  matchless  figures  in  this  celebrated 
group ;  but  he  endowed  them  with  a  grace  all  his  own.  After  the  hila 
rity  caused  by  the  odd  introduction  of  the  precious  little  picture  had 
somewhat  subsided,  Sir  Thomas,  addressing  Mr.  Stothard  with  that  nice 
tact  for  which  he  was  so  eminently  distinguished,  and  using  a  tone  and 
manner  in  which  respect  and  affection  were  blended,  very  different 
to  the  jocose  abruptness  of  his  manner  to  Mr.  Ottley,  said,  "Kow, 
Mr.  Stothard,  I  have  a  bonne-bouche  for  you/'  Then,  placing  before 
the  veteran  artist  a  small  and  richly  ornamented  portfolio,  he  desired 
him  to  open  it.  He  did  so — and,  with  a  flush  of  pleasure  mantling 
over  his  face,  faltered  out,  "Ha !  your  most  obedient !"  recognising  at 
a  glance  his  own  early  choice  drawings — small,  exquisite,  and  beauti 
ful — finished  with  the  utmost  care  when  he  was  in  his  very  prime  as 
an  artist.  As  he  carefully  turned  over  the  drawings,  regarding  each 
with  a  keenly  scrutinizing  eye,  it  was  evident  how  deeply  gratified 
he  felt  to  find  his  darlings  thus  carefully  cherished,  by  one  in  whose 
possession,  above  all  others,  he  had  most  pride  in  seeing  them. 
Some  moments  of  silence  on  the  part  of  the  guests  showed  how 
much  they  sympathized  in  the  gratification  he  experienced,  as  with 
a  light  and  careful  touch  he  removed  the  tissue-paper  in  which  they 
were  enveloped,  continuing  his  examination  until  the  introduction 
of  coffee  caused,  for  a  while,  a  cessation  of  artistic  pursuits.  As  Sir 
Thomas  never  gave  large  parties,  people  had  nothing  to  say  about 
his  cuisine  or  his  wine  ;  but  you  perpetually  heard  of  acts  of  bene 
volence  and  generosity,  which  his  unostentatious  style  of  living 
enabled  him  to  perform.  Allan  Cunningham  remarks  with  truth, 


EVENINGS    AT    THE    HOUSE    OF    SIR    THOMAS    LAWRENCE. 

although  in  a  manner  liable  to  misconstruction,  that  while  "Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds  had  the  great  as  guests  at  his  table,  Sir  Thomas 
Lawrence  was  only  a  guest  at  theirs:"  thereby  implying  an  infe 
riority  in  the  latter,  or,  at  least,  that  he  lacked  the  generous  open- 
heartedness  of  his  predecessor.  This  is  an  entire  error,  it  being  noto 
rious  that  Sir  Joshua  was  a  bon-vivant,  fond  of  show  and  magnifi 
cence,  vain  of  being  able  to  number  the  nobility  among  his  guests, 
and  not  a  little  attached  to  gourmanderie  ;  while  Sir  Thomas,  on  the 
contrary,  loved  retirement,  was  abstemious,  and  considered  nothing 
more  irksome  than  feasts  at  great  men's  tables — they  being,  in  his 
estimation,  penalties  which  his  station  compelled  him  to  pay,  rather 
than  rewards  consequent  upon  it.  Purely  intellectual  in  his  tastes, 
all  the  pleasures  of  the  sensualist  were  by  him  unregarded  or 
avoided. 

In  the  society  of  chosen  friends,  in  the  sphere  of  worth,  of  litera 
ture,  of  genius,  he  alone  delighted,  or  coveted  distinction  ;  his  whole 
life  making  this  assurance  doubly  sure  to  those  who — knowing  him 
best — loved  him  most. 

Nothing  could  be  more  pleasing  than  the  perfect  taste  and  good 
ness  with  which  he  ruled  the  few  hours  of  the  evening  whose  inci 
dents  I  have  mentioned.  Every  one's  best  feelings  and  qualities 
seemed  brought  into  action  without  effort  of  their  own,  and  I  am 
sure  we  all  went  away  better  and  happier.  Amongst  the  beautiful 
drawings  exhibited  for  our  gratification,  was  an  outline  sketch  of  the 
Madonna,  from  Fra  Bartoloineo's  picture  in  S.  Romano  at  Lucca. 
Grace,  perfect  grace,  in  every  line — each  figure  worthy  of  the  pencil 
of  a  Raffaelle — on  this  most  beautiful  sketch  it  was  impossible  to 
gaze  without  feeling  a  sense  of  beauty  stealing  into  the  soul,  of 
quiet  joy — pure  and  tranquil.  Such  effects  must  surely  be  among 
the  most  delightful  triumphs  of  Art.  The  outline  here  given  may 
present  an  idea  of  it. 

It  is  in  such  little  meetings  as  the  one  I  have  attempted  to  de 
scribe,  that  an  artist  is  seen  to  most  advantage ;  when,  the  toils  of 
the  day  over,  the  mind  unbends,  and  the  treasures  of  years  of  obser 
vation  and  research,  accumulated  bit  by  bit  and  drop  by  drop,  under 


EVENINGS    AT    THE    HOUSE    OF    SIR    THOMAS    LA  WHENCE. 


\ 


difficulties  and  privations,  perchance,  of  the  most  trying  nature,  are 
then  poured  forth  with  rich  prodigality  ;  the  refined  taste  and  critical 
judgment  astonish  and  delight,  but  it  is  for  and  by  art  alone  that 
they  are  inspired  and  evoked. 

Sir  Thomas  Lawrence  lived  in  his  art.  No  family  cares  obstructed 
his  course  in  the  path  which  he  so  diligently  pursued  to  fame.  His 
romance  of  early  love  coming  to  an  untimely  close  in  the  death 


12Q  EVENINGS    AT   THE    HOUSE    OF    Sill    THOMAS    LAWRENCE. 

of  his  betrothed,  the  most  beautiful  and  most  gifted  of  the  daughters 
of  Mrs.  Sicldons,  the  celebrated  actress,  he  made  no  new  choice. 
Thenceforth  the  art  which  he  had  loved  from  boyhood  was  his  only 
bride — and  the  smile  of  woman  only  sought  for  the  sake  of  being 
transferred  to  his  canvas.  With  what  succes^,  his  matchless  female 
portraits  sufficiently  proclaim.  In  these  we  behold  the  countenances 
of  intellectual  beings,  souls  in  their  eyes,  thoughts  and  passions  ex 
pressed  in  their  features,  and  in  gesture  and  contour  a  grace  and 
dignity  which  no  other  English  artist  has  equalled.  Benjamin  West 
bears  testimony  to  this  when  he  says  :  u  The  portraits  of  Lawrence 
rise  to  the  dignity  of  history  ;  and,  like  similar  works  of  Titian  and 
Yanclyck,  are  not  painted  for  the  present  time  alone,  but  for 
posterity." 

Sir  Thomas  possessed  unrivalled  conversational  powers,  always 
enlivening  the  countenances  of  those  who  sat  to  him  for  their  por 
traits  by  introducing  topics  congenial  to  their  taste  :  for  this  no  man 
was  jnore  eminently  qualified.  Intimately  acquainted  with  all  the 
beauties  of  English  and  foreign  literature,  the  faculties  of  observation, 
discernment,  and  discrimination  possessed  in  the  greatest  perfection, 
and  continually  exercised  amongst  the  most  distinguished  personages 
of  Europe,  joined  to  his  advantages  of  manner  and  person,  rendered 
him,  when  he  chose,  one  of  the  most  fascinating  of  men.  George 
the  Fourth  often  said,  that  "  his  court  contained  no  more  finished 
gentleman  than  Lawrence.''  It  was  owing  to  this  happy  combina 
tion  of  qualities  that  his  portrait  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  was  so  truly  ex 
cellent — it  being  the  only  one  out  of  all  ever  painted  of  that  admir 
able  writer  which  conveys  a  just  idea  of  his  mind. 

When  sitting  for  his  portrait  to  Sir  Thomas,  the  latter  insensibly 
led  him  on  to  converse  on  his  own  works,  and  in  return,  recited  long 
passages  from  many  of  Sir  Walter's  finest  poems.  It  was  in  repeat 
ing  some  of  the  fine  stanzas  of  Marmion  that  the  countenance  of  his 
listener  assumed  the  expression  he  wished.  Sir  Walter's  whole 
aspect  became  ennobled  :  his  eyes  flashed  fire ;  and  the  painter, 
availing  himself  of  the  happy  moment,  transferred  to  his  canvas 
that  bright  look  of  intelligence  and  genius  which  makes  his  portrait 


EVENINGS    AT    THE    HOUSE    OF    SIR    THOMAS    LAWRENCE.  JQJ 

/>f  Sir  Walter  so  immeasurably  superior  to  all  others  ever  painted  of 
him.  It  occupies  a  position  of  honour  in  the  royal  castle  of  Wind 
sor.  In  contrast  to  the  practice  of  Fuseli  and  Flaxman,  who,  like 
the  ancient  writers  of  Greek  tragedy,  generally  chose  their  subjects 
from  the  heroic  or  legendary  world,  the  genius  of  Sir  Thomas  Law 
rence  confined  itself  chiefly  to  the  living  and  actual,  ever  paying  a 
warm  and  generous  tribute  to  the  wondrous  and  sublime  conceptions 
of  those  two  great  artists,  who  on  their  parts  fully  acknowledged  his 
high  genius,  both  admitting  that  he  alone  painted  the  expression  of 
the  human  eye  in  a  manner  superior  to  any  artist  of  present  or  past 
times.  This  from  such  men  as  Flaxman  and  Fnseli  was  no  slight 
praise ;  for  to  draw  the  eye  correctly,  and  impart  to  it  its  true  ex 
pression,  is  considered  the  most  difficult  achievement  in  art.  The 
strange  and  capricious  Fuseli  ever  spoke  well  of  "  Lawrence,"  with 
a  mixture  of  admiration  for  his  genius  and  of  love  for  his  character. 

How  exquisite  is  the  contemplation  of  genius,  when  joined  to 
purity  of  morals  and  goodness  of  heart.  When  to  correct  judgment, 
and  perfect  mastery  over  all  the  lower  passions,  is  added  excellent 
common  sense  and  reverent  humility  to  God.  Of  these  grand  and 
goo.d  materials  was  the  character  of  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence.  His 
heart  overflowed  with  pity  towards  all  who  suffered,  and  the  appeal 
of  sorrow  or  misfortune  wras  never  made  to  him  in  vain.  On  allud 
ing  one  day  in  his  presence  to  a  circumstance  of  this  nature,  he  re 
plied,  "  I  am  in  the  receipt  of  an  enormous  income  from  my  profes 
sion  ;  more  than  I  think  I  ought  to  appropriate  to  my  own  use  : 
therefore,  I  consider  it  but  just  that  some  of  my  less  fortunate 
brethren  in  art  should  have  a  share.  Towards  the  close  of  the 
annual  exhibitions,  many  of  the  poorer  and  younger  artists  have 
their  pictures  still  unsold,  and  sometimes  they  suffer  greatly  on 
account  of  it ;  so  I  make  it  a  point  to  secretly  buy  as  many  of  them 
as  I  can,  and  by  this  means  I  trust  I  do  them  good,  without  wound 
ing  their  feelings  in  any  way." 

This  is  but  instancing  one  of  the  many  channels  in  which  his 
bounty  flowed.  It  wras  lavish,  but  ever  without  obtrusiveness,  and 
bestowed  with  so  much  delicacy  and  humility,  as  to  leave  the  rec-ipi- 

16 


122  EVENINGS    AT   THE    HOUSE    OF    SIPw    THOMAS    LAWEENCE. 

ent  under  the  impression  that  lie  had  conferred,  rather  than  received 
a  favor.  It  was  owing  to  this  noble  generosity  towards  the  unfortu 
nate,  that  even  with  his  large  income,  he  frequently  suffered  from 
pecuniary  embarrassment — a  circumstance  eagerly  seized  upon  by 
calumny,  as  a  pretext  for  charging  him  with  gambling,  and  even 
with  other  vices  equally  repugnant  to  his  nature. 

In  a  moment  of  depression,  when  wounded  by  these  invisible 
arrows,  he  thus  wrote  to  his  attached  old  friend,  Miss  Lee.  Having 
just  before  alluded  to  the  "  comfort-working  effects  of  money,"  he 
adds :  u  But  reflect  how  little  I  have  been  accustomed  to  consider 
them  for  myself.  I  have  neither  been  extravagant,  nor  profligate  in 
the  use  of  it ;  neither  gaming,  horses,  curricle,  expensive  entertain 
ments,  nor  secret  sources  of  ruin,  from  vulgar  licentiousness,  have 
swept  it  from  me.  I  am  in  everything,  but  the  effects  of  utter  care 
lessness  about  money,  the  same  being  I  was  at  Bath ;  the  same  delight 
in  pure  and  simple  pleasures — the  same  disdain  of  low  enjoyments — 
the  same  relish  for  whatever  is  grand,  however  above  me — the  same 
admiration  of  what  is  beautiful  in  character — the  same  enthusiasm 
for  what  is  exquisite  in  the  productions,  or  generous  in  the  passions  of 
the  mind.  I  have  met  with  duplicity,  which  I  never  practised  (for 
this  is  far  removed  from  inconstancy  of  purpose),  and  it  has  not 
changed  my  confidence  in  human  nature  or  my  firm  belief  that  the 
good  of  it  infinitely  overbalances  the  bad. 

"  In  moments  of  irritation  I  may  have  held  other  language,  but  it 
has  been  the  errata  of  my  heart,  and  this  is  the  perfect  book  which 
I  could  offer  were  my  being  now  to  end." 

Those  who  have  had  the  happiness  to  receive  any  gift  however 
slight  from  the  hands  of  this  most  gifted  and  amiable  man  will  not 
readily  forget  the  inimitable  charm  which  accompanied  its  presenta 
tion.  Having  one  evening  at  his  house  listened  with  great  interest 
to  several  anecdotes  which  he  related  of  celebrated  characters  with 
whom  he  had  intimately  associated  during  his  visit  to  France,  he 
gave  an  account  of  several  interviews  with  Prince  Metternich,  of 
whose  beautiful  daughter  the  Princess  Marie,  he  spoke  as  of  some 
thing  angelic — a  kind  of  guardian  angel  to  her  father,  whom  she  ac- 


EVENINGS    AT    THE    HOUSE    OF    SIR    THOMAS    LAWRENCE.  123 

companied  in  all  his  long  journeys,  at  all  times  and  seasons,  wherever 
he  went,  never  tiring  in  love  and  duty ;  whilst  he  in  return  seemed  to 
receive  new  life  from  her  society. 

Sir  Thomas,  observing  the  agreeable  impression  produced  by  his 
account  of  this  ministering  angel,  opened  a  portfolio,  and  took  from 
it  a  proof  impression  by  Lewis,  of  a  fac-simile  of  his  exquisite  drawing 
of  the  Princess  Marie  Metternich.  The  engraving,  like  the  original 
drawing,  was  slight  and  rather  wanting  in  force,  and  Sir  Thomas,  for 
the  space  of  an  hour  and  a  half,  employed  himself  in  heightening 
its  eifect  by  touches  from  variously  coloured  crayons,  until  he  had 
rendered  it  even  more  effective  than  the  original  drawing ;  he  conclu 
ded  his  task  by  writing  something  upon  it  with  a  black  lead  pencil. 
On  taking  leave,  just  before  entering  the  carriage,  he,  in  the  most 
graceful  manner,  presented  to  me  the  half-engraved  half-drawn  por 
trait.  On  reaching  home,  how  great  was  my  delight  to  find  my  own 
name  at  the  foot  of  the  paper,  with  kindly  words  of  presentation 
from  himself.  I  have  it  now,  and  value  it  as  one  of  my  greatest 
treasures  ;  more  precious  even  than  his  more  valuable  gift  of  an  un 
lettered  proof  of  the  Calmady  children. 

These  beautiful  little  creatures  were  great  favourites  of  his,  and 
much  attached  to  him.  Mrs.  Fuseli  told  me  that  one  day,  when  she 
called  upon  him,  she  found  him  seated  at  luncheon,  with  little  Emi 
ly,  the  youngest  child,  upon  his  knee,  receiving  its  food  from  his 
hand,  the  other  sitting  as  closely  beside  him  as  she  could  get,  and 
Lily,  his  large  white  cat,  standing  with  her  fore-paws  resting  on  his 
chair,  receiving,  amidst  much  merriment,  her  morsels  from  himself 
and  the  children.  Lily  was  quite  a  celebrated  character  in  the 
painting  room  when  juvenile  sitters  were  his  subjects;  white,  as 
her  name  implies,  and  of  great  size  and  beauty,  her  docility  was  re 
markable,  and  her  tricks  frequently  exhibited  to  amuse  them.  One 
of  her  ludicrous  performances  was  to  lie  upon  her  back,  with  her 
fore-feet  placed  beneath  her  head,  in  the  same  attitude  in  which 
many  persons  sleep  :  in  this  position  she  would  remain,  if  command 
ed,  for  any  length  of  time,  motionless  as  a  model,  her  green  eyes  fur 
tively  watching  for  permission  to  retire,  which,  when  given,  she 


EVENINGS    AT    THE    HOUSE    OF    SIR    THOMAS    LAW11ENCE. 

obovcd  with  the  greatest  alacrity.  Poor  Lily  came  to  an  untimely  f 
end,  having  leaped  over  the  parapet  of  the  house  (as  was  supposed 
after  a  bird) ;  when  brought  in  she  rushed  away,  and  hid  herself. 
She  was  found  two  or  three  days  afterwards,  secreted  in  the  interior 
of  an  antique  fragment  in  the  studio,  from  whence,  after  much 
trouble,  she  was  taken  out  quite  dead. 

In  remembering  the  kindness  of  heart  which  gave  the  politeness 
of  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence  so  great  a  charm,  I  may  mention  two  in 
stances  of  it,  The  first  was  shown  in  our  presence  to  Mr.  Stotliard. 
Being  at  the  house  of  Sir  Thomas  one  evening,  some  time  after  that 
on  which  Mr.  Stotliard  received  so  pleasurable  a  surprise  from  the 
si  flit  of  his  own  choice  drawings,  and  which  Sir  Thomas  had  called 
a  bonne-bouche,  an  incident  of  a  somewhat  similar  character  took 
place.  Mr.  Stotliard's  visit  was  induced  by  the  wish  to  examine  a 
Drawing  of  the  Transfiguration  by  Kaffaelle,  in  order  to  compare  it 
'with  a  small  copy  in  oil,  which  he  had  begun  when  in  Paris  in  1825, 
and  had  latterly  been  working  upon  from  memory.  Having  satisfied 
his  curiosity  with  regard  to  the  drawing,  Sir  Thomas  smilingly  ob 
served  :  "  Why,  Mr.  Stotliard,  /  can  show  you  a  drawing  which 
unites  not  only  all  the  excellences  of  Raffaellc,  but  likewise  those  of 
Rubens,  Titian,  and  Paul  Veronese."  "  Ha  !  indeed  !  you  don't  say 
so?"  rejoined  the  unsuspicious  Mr.  Stotliard.  "Pray  whose  is  it?" 
"  You  shall  see,"  said  Sir  Thomas,  as,  smiling  at  the  warmth  of  his 
old  friend,  he  placed  before  him  a  drawing  carefully  veiled  with  tis 
sue-paper,  which  very  slowly  and  with  infinite  care  he  removed, 
displaying  a  beautiful  copy  of  Stotliard's  great  picture  of  Peace  and 
War,  painted  for  the  banquet  room  at  Buiieigh.  It  was  a  pleasur 
able  moment !  A  sudden  exclamation  of  surprise  was  for  a  little 
while  all  he  was  able  to  utter,  as,  with  a  deep  flush  of  the  face,  and 
a  keen  glitter  of  the  eyes  beneath  their  white,  overhanging  eye 
brows,  lie  surveyed  it  critically  throughout.  The  beauty  of  the 
drawing  was  indeed  great ;  and  we  silently  shared  the  feeling  of 
joy  which  he  evidently  experienced  in  regarding  it— nor  less 
so  his  warmly  and  unaffectedly  expressed  thanks— declaring  "  He 
was  very  much  pleased— very  much  obliged— it  had  given  him 


EVENINGS    AT    THE    HOUSE    OF    Sill    THOMAS    LAWRKNCE.  125 

very  great  pleasure;  for  in  truth  he  had  almost  forgotten  it."  lie 
then  requested  to  see  a  small  picture  by  Martin  Schon — one  which 
he  had  repeatedly  called  to  see  at  the  house  of  Sir  Thomas,  being 
never  weary  of  admiring  it,  saying  that,  "  To  him,  there  seemed 
something  supernatural  in  it — something  that  dazzled  his  eyes  to 
look  on."  I  forget  the  subject,  but  remember  the  effect,  which  was 
that  of  the  most  brilliant  colours  that  can  be  imagined,  closely  placed 
together  without  any  blackness  of  shadow,  all  appearing  of  the  rich 
est  brightness.  The  picture  was  very  small,  of  an  oval  shape,  in  an 
open  network  gold  frame,  and  looked  a  proper  ornament  for  a 
queen's  boudoir.  Mr.  Stothard's  eyes  could  not  leave  it — he  appear 
ed  anxious  to  get  it  by  heart. 

The  second  instance  I  alluded  to  was  related  to  us  with  lively 
joy  by  his  son  Alfred,  a  few  nights  after  its  occurrence.  Mrs. 
Bray  narrates  it  in  her  charming  volume,  but  nevertheless  I  cannot 
help  repeating  it,  as  it  is  a  proof  how  much  this  dear  and  venerable 
man  was  beloved  by  his  brother  artists. 

One  day,  when  the  Council  of  the  Eoyal  Academy  met,  the  room 
was  excessively  cold,  and  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence,  with  his  usual 
consideration,  requested  the  gentlemen  to  oblige  him  by  keeping 
on  their  hats.  Mr.  Stothard  was  very  deaf,  and  not  having  heard  a 
word,  looked  around  rather  anxiously  when  he  saw  everybody  with 
their  hats  on,  more  particularly  as  he  had  left  his  in  the  ante-room. 
Sir  Thomas  saw  the  look,  and  said,  in  his  mild,  even  tones,  "  Gentle 
men,  will  one  of  you  fetch  Mr.  Stothard's  hat  ?"  There  was  an  in 
stant  rush  to  get  it— all  eager  to  be  first.  Mr.  Shee,  afterwards  Sir 
Martin  Archer  Slice,  who  succeeded  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence  as  Presi 
dent  of  the  Royal  Academy,  was  the  successful  winner  of  the  hat, 
bearing  it  in  triumph  to  its  owner. 

Raphael  West,  son  of  Benjamin  West,  the  successor  of  Reynolds 
and  predecessor  of  Lawrence  as  President  of  the  Royal  Academy, 
was  one  of  Sir  Thomas's  earliest  and  best  friends.  They  were  warm 
ly  attached  to  each  other.  Raphael  was  a  tall,  strong,  powerful  man. 
Once  at  a  dinner  party  at  which  lie  was  present,  one  of  those  slan 
derous  gossips  who  infest  society,  took  occasion  to  utter  some  story 


126  EVENINGS    AT    THE    HOUSE    OF   SIE    THOMAS    LAWRENCE. 

against  Lawrence  which  Raphael  knew  to  be  false.  Instantly  start 
ing  upon  his  feet,  he  walked  up  to  him,  thrust  his  huge  fist  in  his 
face,  and  said,  "  Sir !  if  you  utter  one  other  word  against  my  friend 
Lawrence,  I'll  knock  you  down."  The  man  visibly  quailed,  recoiling 
in  silence  before  the  giant  fist  of  his  opponent,  whose  determined 
manner  and  flashing  eye  plainly  showed  he  was  not  to  be  trifled 
with. 

At  the  death  of  his  father  this  excellent  friend  had  to  contend 
with  many  difficulties,  pecuniary  and  otherwise ;  during  these,  Sir 
Thomas  received  a  note  from  him  soliciting  his  intervention  in  some 
affair  relative  to  the  king's  patronage  of  the  exhibition  of  his  father's 
pictures.  It  commenced  u  Dear  Sir  Thomas ;"  in  answering  this 
note,  Sir  Thomas  thus  reminded  Raphael  of  the  above  anecdote. 
"  In  those  times  your  notes  were  always '  Dear  Lawrence  ;'  what  have 
I  done  since  then,  that  you  should  Sir  me  now  ?  My  dear  West,  I 
am  as  much  yours  now  as  when  you  wrere  so  willing  and  ready  to 
knock  my  enemy  down.  It  is  true  the  king  has  made  me  a  knight, 
but  I  am  no  knight  to  you.  What  you  have  requested,  is  done,  as 
everything  yon  can  ask  shall  be,  if  in  my  power.  Ever,  my  dear 
West,  as  of  old,  your  affectionate  Thomas  Lawrence."  It  is  needless 
to  say  how  this  generous  warmth  of  heart  made  him  idolized  by  those 
with  whom  he  was  intimate,  or  how  deeply  it  penetrated  others  who 
sought  his  sympathy  and  assistance.  Never  were  either  refused,  and 
the  manner  doubled  the  value  of  the  action.  Urbane  and  polish 
ed  in  the  highest  degree,  yet  with  strong  and  keen  susceptibilities, 
he  was  seldom  unduly  excited,  generally  conducting  himself  with 
great  equanimity ;  it  happened  however,  in  one  instance,  that  this 
admirable  quality,  which  takes  so  many  of  the  best  and  finest  to 
compose  it,  forsook  him,  and  it  happened  thus  : 

The  duties  of  hanging  the  pictures  sent  in  for  the  Exhibition  of  the 
Royal  Academy  devolve  on  a  committee  of  a  few  members  previous 
ly  chosen.  For  obvious  reasons,  the  most  profound  secrecy  is  main 
tained  regarding  the  situations  assigned  to  the  different  pictures,  no 
member  out  of  the  committee  being  allowed  to  know  where  his  pic 
tures  are  hung  until  "  varnishing  day,"  at  which  period  the  whole 


EVENINGS    AT    THE    HOUSE    OF  SIR    THOMAS    LAWKENCE.  1^7 

have  been  arranged  and  suspended  in  the  places  allotted  to  them  by 
the  committee. 

The  centre  of  the  Great  Room  had  generally  been  ceded  to  Mr. 
Wilkie,  in  consequence  not  only  of  his  excellence  as  an  artist,  but 
also  that  he  rarely  sent  in  more  than  one  picture  of  rather  small  di 
mensions  ;  on  one  occasion,  however,  when  Mr.  Stothard  was  of  the 
committee,  the  centre  was  given  to  some  other  artist,  by  no  means 
qualified  to  take  precedence  of  Wilkie,  whose  picture  was  placed  at 
a  distance  from  the  centre,  although,  in  line. 

On  entering  the  room,  and  beholding  the  post  of  honour  usually 
occupied  by  his  own  picture,  had  been  awarded  to  that  of  another, 
Wilkie  was  excessively  agitated ;  his  whole  frame  shook  ;  yet,  ac 
cording  to  Mr.  Stotliard,  he  stood  silent  and  uncomplaining.  While 
thus  deeply  wounded,  one  of  the  committee,  an  envious  rival  of  the 
president,  intimated  in  the  hearing  of  Stothard,  that  it  was  owing  to 
Sir  Thomas  Lawrence  that  Wilkie's  picture  had  not  been  placed  in 
the  centre.  The  assertion  was  a  gratuitous  falsehood  ;  the  real  truth 
being,  that  although  an  ex-officio  member  of  the  committee,  Sir 
Thomas  most  carefully  avoided  all  interference,  leaving  its  members 
to  act  solely  according  to  their  own  judgment  and  taste. 

At  a  subsequent  meeting  of  the  committee,  Sir  Thomas  observed 
that  he  considered  it  a  most  unworthy  proceeding  in  any  member  of 
the  committee,  to  divulge  what  had  taken  place  in  regard  to  the 
allotment  of  places,  and  more  unworthy  still,  "  to  falsify  a  fact." 
u  I  am  charged  by  a  member  now  present,"  said  he,  looking  at  him, 
"  that  I  was  the  means  of  depriving  Mr.  Wilkie  of  the  centre  place 
which  his  picture  deserved  ;  when  every  one  of  the  committee  well 
know,  that  I  uttered  not  one  word  on  the  occasion."  The  offending 
party  here  boldly  denied  the  charge.  "You  but  add  to  your  dis 
grace,"  said  the  president ;  "  for  I  had  the  fact  from  one  who  heard 
you,  the  most  truthful  and  venerable  of  the  committee.  You  did  say 
it,  sir.  You  vilified  me  most  falsely  and  unjustly  ;  you  know  you 
did  ;"  and  dashing  the  pen  he  held  in  his  hand  violently  from  him, 
he  abruptly  left  the  chair,  and  the  council  broke  up  immediately. 

This   incident  was  related  to  us  at  the  time  it  occurred  by  a 


128  EVENINGS    AT    THE    HOUSE    OF    SItt   THOMAS    LAWRENCE. 

celebrated  sculptor  who  was  present  as  a  member  of  the  council, 
and  who  feared  that  a  hostile  message  would  follow,  hut  the  traducer 
wisely  refrained ;  probably  remembering  honest  Sancho's  proverb, 
"  Least  said  is  soonest  mended." 

Perpetually  as  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence  was  in  the  habit  of 
associating  with  the  great,  he  never  from  that  circumstance  indulged 
in  any  airs  of  pride,  but  with  'the  most  unfeigned  cordiality  would 
greet  and  acknowledge  his  humbler  friends  under  any  disadvantages. 
In  this  respect  he  greatly  resembled  the  present  Earl  of  Aberdeen,  of 
whom  he  once  said,  "Of  the  whole  peerage,  the  Earl  of  Aberdeen  is  the 
kindest  and  most  consistent,  for  wherever  I  meet  him,  whether  it  is 
in  the  street,  at  his  own  house,  in  the  lobby  of  the  opera,  or  in  the 
king's  drawing-room,  there  is  invariably  the  same  pleasant  look, 
kind  enquiry,  and  warm  shake  of  the  hand.  It  is  not  thus  with 
others,  for  the  place  alters  the  manners,  but  not  so  with  the  Earl  of 
Aberdeen ;  he  is  the  same  on  all  occasions."  My  reminiscences 
of  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence  conclude,  alas  !  with  one  of  a  far  different 
character  from  any  of  the  preceding.  Having  heard  that  he  had 
been  indisposed,  I  called  one  morning  to  enquire  about  his  health  ; 
the  door  was  opened  by  his  attached  German  servant,  who,  in 
reply  to  my  questions,  silently  led  the  way  to  the  painting  room, 
in  many  respects  similar  to  the  apartment  I  hare  previously  de 
scribed,  but  having  in  addition  all  the  accessories  of  the  studio. 
There,  in  a  little  alcove,  or  recess  in  the  wall,  on  a  narrow  mat- 
trass,  lay  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence  dead. 

The  shock  and  sorrow  of  such  a  surprise  may  be  imagined,  the 
pain  can  never  be  forgotten.  He  had  died  suddenly,  a  few  hours 
before,  and  no  steps  had  yet  been  taken  in  regard  to  him.  There  he 
lay,  calm  and  white  as  marble — his  beautiful  eyes  for  ever  closed, 
and  his  features  settled  into  that  deep  composure  which  inspires  so 
much  awe  while  gazing  on  the  dead.  A  small  table  stood  beside 
him,  and  on  it  a  prayer-book,  opened,  and  turned  downwards.  I 
took  it  up  and  read — "  Lord,  teach  me  to  number  my  days."  The 
poor  servant  said,  u  I  was  reading  that  to  him  last  night."  In  this 
simple  speech,  how  much  consolation  !  great,  good,  and  gifted,  reli- 


EVENINGS    AT    THE    HOUSE    OF    SIR    THOMAS    LAWKENCE.  129 

gion  was  not  to  him  an  empty  sound  ;  his  whole  life  was  an  illustra 
tion  of  its  beauty  and  its  truth,  and  doubtless  his  spirit  in  the  hour 
of  death  experienced  its  benign  influence. 

Peace  and  honour  to  his  memory  for  ever. 

Sir  Thomas  Lawrence  wTas  born  at  Bristol  in  the  year  1769,  and 
died  in  London  Jan.  T,  1830. 

In  a  succeeding  page  is  a  fac-simile  of  one  of  his  letters;  the 
writing  in  its  delicacy  of  line  greatly  resembles  that  of  Raffaelle. 

In  the  autumn  of  1825,  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence  repaired  to  Paris, 
by  command  of  King  George  the  Fourth,  for  the  purpose  of  painting 
the  portrait  of  the  French  monarch  Charles  the  Tenth,  and  other 
members  of  the  French  royal  family.  Sir  Thomas  thus  writes  to  my 
husband  in  a  letter  from  Paris  : — 

"  HOTEL  DE  PAIIIS,  Rue  Rivoli,  Sept.  4,  1825. 

"  As  the  English  papers  copy  the  French  in  their  paragraphs  of 
the  court,  you  probably  know  my  professional  progress,  for  I  perceive 
the  sittings  of  His  Most  Christian  Majesty  and  of  the  Dauphin  are 
mentioned.  State  ceremonies,  hunting,  or  business,  sometimes  delay 
the  sittings,  but  an  appointment  is  never  changed.  The  hour  is 
punctually  kept,  and  the  time  always  given  to  .me  that  I  desire. 
Even  a  royal  palace  cannot  furnish  the  perfect  convenience  of  one's 
own  atelier,  but  everything  is  done  for  me  to  convert  the  room  in 
which  I  paint  into  an  artist's  study  till  the  sittings  are  over.  I  need 
not  tell  you  that  there  is  ample  store  of  art  here  to  occupy  the  eye 
and  mind  when  not  in  their  destined  employment.  French  mo 
dern  art  is  very  powerful  both  in  Sculpture  and  Painting ;  and 
although  something  is  wanting  that  we  have,  it  is  still  an  highly- 
educated  school,  and  cannot  be  slightly  considered  but  by  prejudice 
or  ignorance.  This  is  my  impression  here,  and  must  remain  so  in 
England. 

"  Between  business,  and  other  claims  on  one's  attention  and  opi 
nion,  the  day  pas&es  swiftly,  and  too  many  friends  will,  I  fear,  com 
plain  of  my  silence  ;  but,  though  not,  I  trust,  failing  in  my  art,  I 


130  EVENINGS    AT    THE    HOUSE    OF    SIK    THOMAS    LA  \VKEXCE. 

liave  not  the  power  of  various  employment  that  I  had  in  my  younger 
days,  and  when  the  body  yields  the  mind  relaxes  with  it." 


The  following  touching  incident  is  so  eminently  characteristic  of 
the  sensitive  delicacy  of  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence,  that  we  give  it  in  the 
words  of  an  "  eye-witness,"  as  it  appeared  in  the  public  prints,  Jan. 
1830  :- 

"  Twenty-eight  years  ago  the  arts  lost  one  of  their  votaries  by  the 
sudden  death  of  Mr.  William  Hamilton,  II.  A.,  a  man  distinguished  alike 
for  his  virtues  and  ability,  and  who  had  long  enjoyed  the  friendship 
of  the  then  Mr.  Lawrence.  When  the  awful  moment  had  arrived 
that  it  was  found  necessary  to  solder  up  the  leaden  coffin,  and  when 
the  undertaker's  man  had  folded  the  winding-sheet  over  the  face  of 
the  deceased — the  weeping  friends  stood  to  gaze  a  last  farewell— 
I  was  struck  by  the  circumstance  of  Mr.  Lawrence  approaching 
the  coffin,  gently  unfolding  death's  drapery,  and,  with  inexpressi 
ble  tenderness,  replacing  it  with  all  gentleness  upon  the  face  of  his 
friend — as  if  he  thought  it  had  been  too  rudely  done.  The  action 
struck  me  then  as  being  awfully  interesting ;  it  dwells,  and  has 
dwelt,  upon  my  mind  as  a  thing  of  yesterday. 

"J.  H." 

The  principal  cause  of  the  death  of  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence  was 
precisely  the  same  as  that  which  deprived  Lord  Byron  of  life — injudi 
cious  use  of  the  lancet.  Sir  Thomas  having  caught  a  cold  attended 
by  fever,  the  physicians  ordered  leeches  to  the  chest;  like  him,  he 
was  also  bled  in  the  arm.  During  the  night  the  wounds  re-open 
ed,  and  finding  himself  saturated  with  blood,  he  faintly  said  to  his 
affectionate  servant,  "  I  am  dying,  John."  "  Oh,  no,  Sir  Thomas, 
you  are  only  faint  from  loss  of  blood."  "  No,  John,  I  am  dying." 
Those  were  his  last  words,  as  related  to  me  by  his  faithful  attendant. 


0*'<*i 


''''     I 

& 


/* 


/W  >9 
, 


'<*pi  <*^*--^cxv  x_         J-&-*^      J^»  </^<  f<-    • 


**-*  A*     <^-J     f-t*s**    ^tiT-c*-*    s   se 


. 


A 

' 


LAMB    A  X  D     II  0  0  1) . 


Thomas  Hood. 

E  Late  Charles  Lamb  was  in  pri 
vate  life  one  of  the  most  amiable 
of  men.  Full  of  attaching  qua 
lities,  he  lived  in  the  core  of  the 
hearts  of  his  friends ;  even  those 
who  knew  him  but  as  a  casual  ac 
quaintance,  never  failed  to  retain 
a  life-long  remembrance  of  his 
rare  and  most  unique  genius  and 
simplicity.  Bound  in  the  closest 
tiesof  friendship  with  "The  Hoods," 
with  whom  we  also  were  in  the  habit 


LAMB    AND    HOOD. 


of  continually  associating,  we  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  him  at 
their  house  one  evening,  together  with  his  sister  and  several  other 
friends,  amongst  whom  was  Miss  Kelly,  that  most  natural  and 
unrivalled  of  English  comic  actresses. 

In  outward  appearance  Hood  conveyed  the  idea  of  a  clergyman. 
His  figure  slight,  and  invariably  dressed  in  black;  his  face  pallid;  the 
complexion  delicate,  and  features  regular :  his  countenance  be 
speaking  sympathy  by  its  sweet  expression  of  melancholy  and  suf 
fering. 

Lamb  was  altogether  of  a  different  mould  and  aspect.  Of  mid 
dle  height,  with  brown,  and  rather  ruddy  complexion,  grey  eyes  ex 
pressive  of  sense  and  shrewdness,  but  neither  large  nor  brilliant ;  his 
head  and  features  well  shaped,  and  the  general  expression  of  his  coun 
tenance  quiet,  kind,  and  observant,  undergoing  rapid  changes  in  con 
versation,  as  did  his  manner,  variable  as  an  April-day,  particularly  to 
his  sister,  whose  saint-like  good-humour  and  patience  were  as  re 
markable  as  his  strange  and  whimsical  modes  of  trying  them.  But 
the  brother  and  sister  perfectly  understood  each  other,  and  "Charles," 
as  she  always  called  him,  would  not  havs  been  the  "  Charles  "  of  her 
loving  heart  without  the  pranks  and  oddities  which  he  wTas  continually 
playing  off  upon  her — and  which  were  only  outnumbered  by  the 
instances  of  affection,  and  evidences  of  ever  watchful  solicitude  with 
which  he  surrounded  her.  Miss  Lamb,  although  many  years  older 
than  her  brother,  by  no  means  looked  so,  but  presented  the  pleasant 
appearance  of  a  mild,  rather  stout,  and  comely  maiden  lady  of  mid 
dle  age. 

Dressed  with  quaker-like  simplicity  in  dove-coloured  silk,  with  a 
transparent  kerchief  of  snow-white  muslin  folded  across  her  bosom, 
she  at  once  prepossessed  the  beholder  in  her  favour,  by  an  aspect  of 
serenity  and  peace.  Her  manners  were  very  quiet  and  gentle,  and 
her  voice  low.  She  smiled  frequently,  but  seldom  laughed,  partaking 
of  the  courtesies  and  hospitalities  of  her  merry  host  and  hostess  with 
all  the  cheerfulness  and  grace  of  a  most  mild  and  kindly  nature. 

Her  behaviour  to  her  brother  was  like  that  of  an  admiring  disci 
ple  ;  her  eyes  seldom  absent  from  his  face.  Even  when  apparently 


LAMB    AND    HOOD. 

engrossed  in  conversation  with  others,  she  would,  by  supplying  some 
word  for  which  he  was  at  a  loss,  even  when  talking  in  a  distant  part 
of  the  room,  show  how  closely  her  mind  waited  upon  his.  Mr.  Lamb 
was  in  high  spirits,  sauntering  about  the  room,  with  his  hands  crossed 
behind  his  back,  conversing  by  fits  and  starts  with  those  most  fami 
liarly  known  to  him,  but  evidently  mentally  acknowledging  Miss 
Kelly  to  be  the  rara-avis  of  his  thoughts,  by  the  great  attention  he 
paid  to  every  word  she  uttered.  Truly  pleasant  it  must  have  been  to 
her,  even  though  accustomed  to  see  people  listen  breathless  with 
admiration  while  she  spoke,  to  find  her  words  have  so  much  charm 
for  such  a  man  as  Charles  Lamb. 

He  appeared  to  enjoy  himself  greatly,  much  to  the  gratification 
of  Mrs.  Hood,  who  often  interchanged  happy  glances  with  Miss 
Lamb,  who  nodded  approvingly.  He  spoke  much — with  emphasis 
and  hurry  of  words,  sorely  impeded  by  the  stammering  utterance 
wrhich  in  him  was  not  unattractive.  Miss  Kelly  (charming,  natural 
Miss  Kelly,  who  has  drawn  from  her  audiences  more  heart-felt  tears 
and  smiles  than  perhaps  any  other  English  actress),  with  quiet  good- 
humour  listened  and  laughed  at  the  witty  sallies  of  her  host  and  his 
gifted  friend,  seeming  as  little  an  actress  as  it  is  possible  to  conceive. 
Once  however,  when  some  allusion  was  made  to  a  comic  scene  in  a 
new  play  then  just  brought  out,  wherein  she  had  performed  to  the  life 
the  character  of  a  low-bred  lady's  maid  passing  herself  off  as  her 
mistress,  Miss  Kelly  arose,  and  with  a  kind  of  resistless  ardour  re 
peated  a  few  sentences  so  inimitably,  that  everybody  laughed  as 
much  as  if  the  real  lady's  maid,  and  not  the  actress,  had  been  before 
them ;  while  she  who  had  so  well  personated  the  part,  quietly  resu 
med  her  sea.t  without  the  least  sign  of  merriment,  as  grave  as  possible. 

Most  striking  had  been  the  transition  from  the  calm  lady-like 
person,  to  the  gay,  loquacious  soubrette  ;  and  not  less  so,  the  sudden 
extinction  of  vivacity,  and  resumption  of  well-bred  decorum.  This 
little  scene  for  a  few  moments  charmed  everybody  out  of  themselves, 
and  gave  a  new  impetus  to  conversation.  Mrs.  Hood's  eyes  sparkled 
with  joy,  as  she  saw  the  effect  it  had  produced  upon  her  husband, 
whose  pale  face  like  an  illuminated  comic  mask,  shone  with  fun  and 


134:  LAMB    AND    HOOD. 

humour.  Never  was  happier  couple  than  "  The  Hoods ;"  "  mutual 
reliance  and  fond  faith  "  seemed  to  be  their  motto.  Mrs.  Hood  was 
a  most  amiable  woman — of  excellent  manners,  and  full  of  sincerity  and 
goodness.  She  perfectly  adored  her  husband,  tending  him  like  a 
child,  whilst  he  with  unbounded  affection  seemed  to  delight  to  yield 
up  himself  to  her  guidance.  Nevertheless,  true  to  his  humourous 
nature,  he  loved  to  tease  her  with  jokes  and  whimsical  accusations 
and  assertions,  which  were  only  responded  to  by  "  Hood,  Hood,  how 
can  you  run  on  so  ?"  "  Perhaps  you  don't  know,"  said  he,  "  that  Jane's 
besetting  weakness  is  a  desire  to  appear  in  print,  and  be  thought  a 
Blue."  Mrs.  Hood  coloured,  and  gave  her  usual  reply ;  then  observed 
laughingly,  "  Hood  does  not  know  one  kind  of  material  from  another — 
he  thinks  this  dress  is  a  blue  print"  On  looking  at  it  I  saw  it  was  a 
very  pretty  blue  silk.  The  evening  was  concluded  by  a  supper,  one 
of  those  elegant  little  social  repasts  which  Flemish  artists  delight  to 
paint ;  so  fresh  the  fruit,  so  tempting  the  viands,  and  all  so  exqui 
sitely  arranged  by  the  very  hand  of  taste.  Mrs.  Hood  has  frequent 
ly  smiled  when  I  have  complimented  her  on  setting  out  "  picture 
suppers  " — this  was  truly  one. 

Mr.  Lamb  oddly  walked  all  round  the  table,  looking  closely  at 
any  dish  that  struck  his  fancy  before  he  would  decide  where  to  sit, 
telling  Mrs.  Hood  that  he  should  by  that  means  know  how  to  select 
some  dish  that  was  difficult  to  carve,  and  take  the  trouble  off  her  hands ; 
accordingly  having  jested  in  this  manner,  he  placed  himself  with  great 
deliberation  before  a  lobster-salad,  observing  that  was  the  thing.  On 
her  asking  him  to  take  some  roast  fowl,  he  assented.  "  What  part 
shall  I  help  you  to,  Mr.  Lamb  ?"  "  Back,"  said  he  quickly  ;  "  I  al 
ways  prefer  back."  My  husband  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork,  and 
looking  upwards  exclaimed  :  "  By  heavens  !  I  could  not  have  be 
lieved  it,  if  anybody  else  had  sworn  it."  "Believed  what?"  said 
kind  Mrs.  Hood,  anxiously,  colouring  to  the  temples,  and  fancying 
there  was  something  amiss  in  the  piece  he  had  been  helped  to.  "  Be 
lieved  what?  why,  madam,  that  Charles  Lamb  was  a  back-biter!" 
Hood  gave  one  of  his  short  quick  laughs,  gone  almost  ere  it  had 
come,  whilst  Lamb  went  off  into  a  loud  fit  of  mirth,  exclaiming  : 


LAMB    AND    HOOD.  135 

"  Now  that's  devilish  good  !  I'll  sup  with  you  to-morrow  night." 
This  eccentric  flight  made  everybody  very  merry,  and  amidst  a  most 
amusing  mixture  of  wit  and  humour,  sense  and  nonsense,  we  feasted 
merrily,  amidst  jocose  health-drinking,  sentiments,  speeches  and 
songs. 

Mr.  Hood,  with  inexpressible  gravity  in  the  upper  part  of  his 
face,  and  his  mouth  twitching  with  smiles,  sang  his  own  comic  song 
of  "  If  you  go  to  France  be  sure  you  learn  the  lingo  ;"  his  pensive 
manner  and  feeble  voice  making  it  doubly  ludicrous. 

Mr.  Lamb,  on  being  pressed  to  sing,  excused  himself  in  his  own 
peculiar  manner,  but  offered  to  pronounce  a  Latin  eulogium  instead. 
This  was  accepted,  and  he  accordingly  stammered  forth  a  long  string 
of  Latin  words  ;  among  which,  as  the  name  of  Mrs.  Hood  frequently 
occurred,  we  ladies  thought  it  was  in  praise  of  her.  The  delivery  of 
this  speech  occupied  about  five  minutes.  On  enquiring  of  a  gentleman 
who  sat  next  me  whether  Mr.  Lamb  was  praising  Mrs.  Hood,  he  in 
formed  me  that  was  by  no  means  the  case,  the  eulogium  being  on  the 
lobster-salad  !  Thus,  in  the  gayest  of  moods  progressed  and  conclu 
ded  a  truly  merry  little  social  supper,  worthy  in  all  respects  of  the 
author  of  Whims  and  Oddities. 

On  the  following  night,  according  to  his  promise,  Mr.  Lamb  lion- 
oured  us  with  a  visit,  accompanied  by  his  sister,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hood, 
and  a  few  others  hastily  gathered  together  for  the  occasion.  On  enter 
ing  the  room,  Mr.  Lamb  seemed  to  have  forgotten  that  any  previous 
introduction  had  taken  place.  "  Allow  me,  madam,"  said  he,  "  to 
introduce  to  you,  my  sister  Mary;  she's  a  very  good  woman,  but  she 
drinks  !"  "  Charles,  Charles,"  said  Miss  Lamb,  imploringly  (her 
face  at  the  same  time  covered  with  blushes),  "  how  can  you  say  such 
a  thing  ?"  "  Why,"  rejoined  he,  "  you  know  it's  a  fact ;  look  at  the 
redness  of  your  face.  Did  I  not  see  you  in  your  cups  at  nine  o'clock 
this  morning  ?"  "  For  shame,  Charles,"  returned  his  sister  ;  u  what 
will  our  friends  think  ?"  "  Don't  mind  him,  my  dear  Miss  Lamb," 
said  Mrs.  Hood,  soothingly;  "  I  will  answer  that  the  cups  were  only 
breakfast-cups  full  of  coifee." 

Seeming  much  delighted  with  the   mischief  he  had  made,  he 


136  LAMB    AND    HOOD. 

turned  away,  and  began  talking  quite  comfortably  on  indifferent 
topics  to  some  one  else.  For  my  own  part  I  could  not  help  telling 
Mrs.  Hood  I  longed  to  shake  "  Charles."  "  Oh,"  replied  she  smiling, 
"  Miss  Lamb  is  so  used  to  his  unaccountable  ways  that  she  would  be 
miserable  without  them."  Once,  indeed,  as  Mr.  Lamb  told  Hood, 
"  having  really  gone  a  little  too  far,"  and  seeing  her,  as  he  thought, 
quite  hurt  and  offended,  he  determined  to  amend  his  manners, 
"  behave  politely,  and  leave  off  joking  altogether."  For  a  few  days 
lie  acted  up  to  this  resolution,  behaving,  as  he  assured  Hood,  "  ad 
mirably ;  and  what  do  you  think  I  got  for  my  pains?"  "I  have  no 
doubt,"  said  Hood,  "  you  got  sincere  thanks."  "  Bless  you,  no !" 
rejoined  Lamb  ;  "  why,  Mary  did  nothing  but  keep  bursting  into  tears 
every  time  she  looked  at  me,  and  when  I  asked  her  what  she  was 
crying  for,  when  I  was  doing  all  I  could  to  please  her,  she  blubbered 
out :  '  You're  changed,  Charles,  you're  changed ;  what,  have  I  done, 
that  you  should  treat  me  in  this  cruel  manner  ?'  '  Treat  you  !  I  thought 
you  did  not  like  my  jokes,  and  therefore  tried  to  please  you  by 
strangling  them  down  :'  '  Oh,  oh,'  cried  she,  sobbing  as  if  her  heart 
would  break  ;  'joke  again,  Charles — I  don't  know  you  in  this  manner. 
I  am  sure  I  should  die,  if  you  behaved  as  you  have  done  for  the  last 
few  days.'  So  you  see  I  joke  for  her  good  ;"  adding,  with  a  most 
elfish  expression,  "it  saved  her  life  then,  anyhow." 

This  little  explanation  was  happily  illustrated  the  next  moment, 
when  Miss  Lamb,  still  in  an  extreme  trepidation,  and  the  blush  yet 
lingering  on  her  cheeks,  happened  to  drop  her  handkerchief.  She  did 
not  observe  it,  but  her  brother,  although  volubly  describing  some 
pranks  of  his  boyhood  to  a  little  knot  of  listeners,  stepped  aside  and 
handed  it  to  her,  with  a  look  that  said  as  plainly  as  words  could  say, 
"  Forgive  me,  I  love  you  well."  That  she  so  interpreted  it,  her  pleased 
and  happy  look  at  once  declared,  as  with  glistening  eyes  she  sat 
eagerly  listening  to  the  tale  he  was  then  telling ;  a  tale  which  doubt 
less  she  had  heard  before,  ninety  and  nine  times  at  least. 

Charles  Lamb  seemed  a  man  who,  for  every  minute,  had  some 
new  idea :  bright  and  broken  in  conversation — fitful  and  rambling — 
but  which,  in  the  silence  of  his  study,  settling  down  in  beauty  and 


LAMB    AND    HOOD. 

harmony,  made  him  one  of  the  most  charming  of  writers.  When  to 
this  was  added  the  recollection  of  the  sterling  good  qualities  and  noble 
points  of  character  which  distinguished  him  from  common  men,  he 
formed  a  rare  object  to  admire  and  study — none  more  original.  The 
evening  he  spent  with  us  wras  but  a  counterpart  of  the  one  we  had 
passed  at  Mr.  Hood's — gaiety  and  wit  being  its  chief  attractions. 
But  who  can  hope  to  catch  more  than  the  faintest  idea  of  things  so 
fleeting  ?— not  more  so  the  "  dew  on  the  fountain,  the  foam  on  the 
river ;"  or,  as  Lamb  might  say,  the  foam  on  the  champagne — the 
drop  of  the  mountain  dew. 

The  following  letters  from  Lamb  and  Hood  have  never  before 
been  published.  The  contents  speak  for  themselves,  and  require 
but  little  comment,  further  than  to  mention  that  the  jelly  which 
Hood  so  ludicrously  describes,  was  some  claret-jelly  which  Mrs. 
Hood  had  accepted  from  me,  in  the  hope  that  it  might  be  of  service 
to  her  husband,  who,  when  he  set  out  for  Brighton,  was  to  the  last 
degree  feeble  and  emaciated.  Luckily,  the  Brighton  air  effected  his 
cure  at  the  time,  enabling  him  soon  after  to  take  so  lively  a  part 
in  the  little  entertainment  I  have  attempted  to  describe.  The  letter, 
addressed  to  Sir  T.  Lawrence,  Hood  kindly  permitted  us  to  copy. 
In  lieu  of  a  portrait  of  Charles  Lamb,  of  whom  there  is  none  that 
gives  a  true  resemblance,  we  subjoin  the  following  lithographed  fac 
simile  of  his  letter  to  Hood.  It  had,  with  others,  been  forwarded  to 
him  by  us,  and  on  his  return  from  Brighton  was  presented  to  me  as 
a  Lamb  autograph. 


138  LAMB    AND    HOOD. 


LAMB    TO    HOOD. 

"Tuesday.  18  September,  1827. 

u  DEAR  HOOD  : — 

"  If  I  have  anything  in  my  head,  I  will  send  it  to  Mr.  Watts. 
Strictly  speaking,  he  should  have  had  my  Album  verses,  but  a  very 
intimate  friend  importun'd  me  for  the  trifles,  and  I  believe  I  forgot 
Mr.  Watts,  or  lost  sight  at  the  same  time  of  his  similar  souvenir. 
Jamieson  conveyed  the  farce  from  me  to  Mrs.  C.  Kernble  \—he  will 
not  be  in  town  before  the  27th.  Give  our  kind  loves  to  all  at  High- 
gate,  and  tell  them  that  we  have  finally  torn  ourselves  outright 
away  from  Colebrook,  where  I  had  no  health,  and  are  about  to 
domiciliate  for  good  at  Enfield,  where  I  have  experienced  good. 

"  'Lord,  what  good  hours  do  we  keep! 
How  quietly  we  sleep !' 

See  the  rest  in  the  Complete  Angler. 

"  We  have  got  our  books  into  our  new  house.  I  am  a  dray  horse 
if  I  was  not  ashamed  of  the  indigested  dirty  lumber,  as  I  toppled 
-em  out  of  the  cart,  and  blest  Becky  that  came  with  'em,  for  her 
having  an  unstuif'd  brain  with  such  rubbish.  We  shall  get  in  by 
Michael's  mass.  'Twas  with  some  pain  we  were  evuls'd  from  Cole- 
brook.  You  may  find  some  of  our  flesh  sticking  to  the  door  posts. 
To  change  habitations  is  to  die  to  them ;  and  in  my  time  I  have 
died  seven  deaths.  But  I  don't  know  whether  every  such  change 
does  not  bring  with  it  a  rejuvenescence.  'Tis  an  enterprise,  and 
shoves  back  the  sense  of  death's  approximating,  which,  tho'  not  ter 
rible  to  me,  is  at  all  times  particularly  distasteful.  My  house-deaths 
have  generally  been  periodical,  recurring  after  seven  years,  but  this 
last  is  premature  by  half  that  time.  Cut  off  is  the  flower  of  Cole- 
brook.  The  Middle^onian  stream  and  all  its  echoes  mourn.  Even 
minnows  dwindle,  A  parvis  fiuiit  Minimi.  I  fear  to  invite  Mrs. 


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LAMB  AND  HOOD.  13<f 

Hood  to  our  new  mansion,  lest  she  should  envy  it  and  hate  ns.  But 
when  we  are  fairly  in,  I  hope  she  will  come  and  try  it.  I  heard  she 
and  you  were  made  uncomfortable  by  some  unworthy  to  be  cared 
for  attacks,  and  have  tried  to  set  up  a  feeble  counteraction  through 
the  Table  Book  of  last  Saturday.  Has  it  not  reached  you,  that  you 
are  silent  about  it  ?  Our  new  domicile  is  no  manor-house,  but  new, 
and  externally  not  inviting,  but  furnished  within  with  every  conve 
nience.  Capital  new  locks  to  every  door,  capital  grates  in  every 
room,  with  nothing  to  pay  for  incoming,  and  the  rent  £10  less  than 
the  Islington  one.  It  was  built  a  few  years  since  for  £1100  expense 
they  tell  me,  and  I  perfectly  believe  it,  and  I  get  it  for  £35  exclusive 
of  moderate  taxes.  It  is  not  our  intention  to  abandon  Regent  Street 
and  West  End  perambulations  (monastic  and  terrible  thought !),  but 
occasionally  to  breathe  the  fresher  air  of  the  Metropolis.  We  shall 
put  up  a  bed-room  or  two  (all  we  want)  for  occasional  ex-rustication, 
'where  we  shall  visit,  not  be  visited.  Plays,  too,  will  we  see,  perhaps 
our  own,  Urban!  Sylvan!,  and  Sylvanus  Urbanuses  in  turns.  Cour 
tiers  for  a  sport,  then  philosophers,  old  homely  ^-truths,  and  learn- 
truths  in  the  virtuous  shades  of  Enfield.  Liars  again,  and  mocking 
gibers  in  the  coffee-houses  and  resorts  of  London.  And  can  a  mortal 
desire  more  for  his  biparted  nature  ? 

"  0,  the  curds  and  cream  yon  shall  eat  with  us  here ! 
0,  the  turtle-soup  and  lobster-salads  we  shall  devour  with  you  there ! 
O,  the  old  books  we  shall  peruse  here ! 
O,  the  new  nonsense  we  shall  trifle  over  there ' 
0,  Sir  T.  Browne  !  here  ! 
O,  Mr.  Hood,  and  Mr.  Jordan  there ! 
"  Thine,  C  (URBANUS)  L  (SYLVANUS)  (EuA  AMBO.)" 


140 


LAMB    AND   HOOD. 


Enclosed  are  verses  which  Emma  sat  down  to  write,  her  first  on 
the  eve  after  your  departure,  of  course  they  are  only  for  Mrs.  II.'s 
perusal.  They  will  show  at  least  that  one  of  our  party  is  not  willing 
to  cut  old  friends.  What  to  call  'em  I  don't  know.  Blank  verse  they 
are  not,  because  of  the  rhymes.  Rhymes  they  are  not,  because  of  the 
blank  verse.  Heroics  they  are  not,  because  they  are  lyric.  Lyric 
they  are  not,  because  of  the  heroic  measure.  They  must  be  called 
Emmaics. 

The  Hoods, 

2  Robert  Street, 
Adelphi, 

London. 

The  above  letter  is  dated  Tuesday,  but  it  bears  the  post-stamp 
Sept,  18,  182T. 

The  following  humorous  epistle  was  addressed  to  us  by  Hood 

from  Brighton. 

25  King's  Road,  Brighton, 
Mar.  21,  1828. 
My  dear  Friend : 

We  got  down  here  safe,  but  heartily  tired — I  think  Jane 
the  most  fatigued  of  the  two— and  took  up  our  quarters  for  the  night  at 
the  Norfolk.  The  next  morning  to  my  own  astonishment  and  my  wife's, 
I  got  out  and  walked  about  a  mile  on  the  shingles,  partly  and  against 
a  strong  wind  which  now  and  then  had  the  best  of  me.  Here  we 
are  now  settled  in  a  nice  lively  lodging— the  sea  fretting  about  20 
yards  in  front,  and  our  side  window  looking  down  the  road  west 
ward,  and  along  the  beach,  where,  at  about  100  yards  lies  the  wreck 
of  a  poor  sloop  that  came  ashore  the  night  we  arrived— nobody  lost, 
She  looks  somewhat  like  the  "  atomies  "  in  Surgeon's  Hall,  with  her 
bare  ribs  and  back-bone,  and  the  waves  come  and  spit  at  her,  with 
incurable  spite.  We  have  had  one  warm  beautiful  day  quite  like 
summer  with  flies  (the  hack-flies)  all  about  too  ;  but  to-day  is  cold- 
squally,  with  rain.  The  effect  of  the  sea  upon  me  is  almost  incredible. 
I  have  found  some  strength  and  much  appetite  already,  though  I  have 


LAMB   AND    HOOD. 


but  sniffed  the  brine  a  single  time.  The  warm  bath  has  removed  all 
my  stiffness  —  an  effect  I  anticipated  from  something  that  occurred  in 
the  coach.  The  approach  to  the  coast,  even  at  half-way  had  such  an 
effect  on  the  claret-jelly  that  it  took  away  all  its  stiffness,  and  let  it 
loose  in  Mrs.  Hood's  bag.  "  The  regal  purple  stream  "  has  caused  some 
odd  results.  Made  my  watch  a  stop-watch  by  gu?n-mmg  up  the  works, 
glued  Jane's  pocket-book  together  ;  and  fuddled  a  letter  to  Dr.  Yates 
in  such  a  style  that  Em  ashamed  to  deliver  it.  Pray  don't  let  Mrs. 
Balmanno  take  any  reproach  to  herself  for  the  misconduct  of  her 
jelly  —  I  suspect  it  was  so  glad  to  set  off  it  didn't  know  whether  it 
stood  on  its  head  or  its  heels.  I  'rather  think  it  was  placed  for  safety 
bottom  uppermost  ;  I  forgot  to  say  that  the  jelly  got  into  her  purse 
and  made  all  the  money  stick  to  it,  an  effect  I  shan't  object  to,  if  it 
prove  permanent.  Jane  is  delighted  with  Brighton,  and  wishes  we 
could  live  there,  regretting  almost  that  I  am  not  a  boatman  instead 
of  an  author.  Perhaps  when  my  pen  breaks  down  I  may  retire  here 
and  set  up  a  circulating  library  like  Horace  Smith.*  I  shall  deliver 
your  credentials  to  that  gentleman  to-morrow. 

So  far  was  written  yesterday.  I  got  up  to-day  ate  a  monstrous 
breakfast  and  took  a  walk,  but  could  not  fetch  up  Horace  Smith's, 
for  I  set  out  along  the  beach,  which  being  shingle  the  fatigue  was 
double.  As  yet  I  don't  think  I  have  any  ankles.  I  don't  bore  my 
self  yet  with  writing  (don't  tell  Yates  this)  but  amuse  myself  with 
watching  the  waves,  or  a  sea-gull,  or  the  progress  of  a  fishing  boat, 
matters  trifling  enough,  but  they  afford  speculation  seemingly  to  a 
score  old  smocked,  glazed-hatted,  blue-breeched  boatmen  or  fisher 
men  before  my  windows,  and  why  not  to  me  ?  there  is  great  pleasure 
in  letting  a  busy  restless  mind  lie  fallow  a  little,  and  mine  takes  to 
its  idleness  very  complacently.  Jane  murmurs,  and  wants  books 
(scandal).  Her  mind  is  so  used  to  be  idle  it  requires  a  change.  She 
takes  to  her  victuals  as  well  as  I  do,  and  has  suck  a  colour,  particularly 
on  her  chin  !  Here  is  a  look  out  of  our  window,  f  raging  main  and 

*  This  alludes  to  Mr.  Smith's  numerous  publications. 

f  Here  in  the  original  is  a  drawing  of  a  large  French  window  opening  on  a  balcony  with 
of  the  sea.  —  The  remainder  of  the  letter  is  written  by  Mrs.  Hood. 


view 


14:2  LAMB    AND    HOOD. 

all — Jane  made  me  draw  it  in  my  best  style  for  your  satisfaction.  I 
leave  to  her  the  scraps  to  write  upon,  and  subscribe  myself  with 
best  regards  to  Mrs.  Balmaimo  and  yourself,  my  dear  friend,  yours 
very  truly, 

THOS.  HOOD. 

P.  S.  Mind  and  put  on  your  hat  when  reading  near  the  open 
window  ! 

I  must  write  a  few  lines  my  dear  Mrs.  Balmanno  to  give  it  under 
my  hand  that  we  are  going  on  as  well  as  your  kind  and  friendly 
heart  can  wish.  Hood  has  gained"  strength  already  far  beyond  my 
hopes  when  I  set  out,  for  I  never  saw  him  look  so  ill  as  he  did  during 
our  journey,  though  he  bore  the  fatigue  of  it  pretty  well ;  the  wea 
ther  is  not  very  favourable,  but  we  cannot  expect  it  better  in  March. 
I  am  more  reconciled  to  it  as  we  live  on  the  beach,  in  the  very  breath 
of  the  sea,  and  the  window  Hood  has  drawn,  opens  upon  leads  nearly 
as  large  as  our  drawing-room  in  Kobert  Street.  I  wish  you  were  here 
within  sound  of  these  tumbling  waves  that  I  am  now  hearing,  and 
enjoying  the  refreshing  breeze  which  is  now  blowing  in  at  our  win 
dow.  I  am  delighted  with  Brighton,  which  is  saying  much  for  it,  as 
I  had  quite  a  prejudice  against  it  from  what  I  had  heard  before  we 
came.  I  feel  much  stronger  and  better  for  the  change,  and  enjoy  it 
the  more,  I  think,  from  the  anxiety  and  fatigue  I  had  before  we  came. 
Tell  our  kind  friend  Mr.  Balmanno  that  my  worst  half  is  getting  as 
impertinent  as  he  is  when  he  is  quite  well,  and  treats  me  with  as  much 
flippancy  and  scorn  as  Jenny  Wren  used  to  Cock  Robin  when  she 
got  well  and  "  stood  upon  her  Feet."  My  paper  warns  me  to  quit. 
Pray  let  us  hear  from  you,  and  soon.  Give  my  kindest  regards  to 
Mr.  B.,  and  with  love  to  yourself,  I  am,  my  dear  friend, 

Yours  affectionately, 

JANE  HOOD. 

There  is  such  a  glorious  sunset ! 


LAMB    AND    HOOD. 

The  following  is  from  Hood,  a  few  weeks  later. 

25  King's  Road,  Brighton, 
24:  March,  1828. 

Many  thanks  my  dear  Balmanno  for  your  very  welcome  letter — a 
treat  even  when  letters  are  numerous,  for  almost  every  house  has  a 
bill  on  the  window.  Along  with  yours  came  a  lot  of  others  like  an 
archangel  mail  just  thawed — and  they  served  very  much  to  relish 
my  breakfast.  Literary  Gazette,  too,  was  a  God-send,  particularly 
as  we  afterwards  exchanged  it,  or  the  reading  of  it,  for  the  perusal 
of  the  Times,  with  our  fellow-lodger.  I  had  among  the  rest  an  epis 
tle  from  W.  Cooke,  and  one  from  Ackermann  recommending  me  to 
try  Mahomet's  vapour  baths  here — that  damn'd  C.  Croker  certainly 
put  him  up  to  it.  But  I  trust  I  know  better  than  to  trust  my  carcase 
to  the  Infidel.  I  might  get  into  his  hot-well  and  come  out  a  Muscle- 
man.  The  hot  brine  of  the  Artillery  Baths  (so  called,  1  suppose,  be 
cause  they  heat  water  for  Perkins  and  his  steam  guns)  has  done  more 
good  for  me ;  taken  the  stiffness  out  of  my  limbs,  but  my  ankles 
still  suffer  from  a  very  strong  weakness.  Thank  God,  I  have  found 
out  that  I  have  a  stomach  ;  from  the  former  state  of  my  appetite  I 
seem  nowT  to  have  three,  like  a  camel ;  and  when  the  loaf  comes  up,  I 
take  off  a  very  large  impression.  For  example,  I  have  eaten  to-day 
for  dinner,  a  turbot,  a  tart,  and  a  tough  old  fowl  that  nothing  but  a 
coast  appetite  would  venture  on.  But  on  the  beach  you  may  munch 
any  thing,  even  an  old  superannuated  fisherman.  I  called  on  Horace 
Smith  yesterday,  but  he  was  out ;  to-day  I  have  had  better  luck,  thougli 
he  was  out  still,  for  we  met  at  his  door,  and  I  gave  him  your  letter 
on  the  steps.  I  was  delighted  with  him  and  with  her.  He  was  all 
that  is  kind  and  gentlemanly,  and  I  shall  break  through  my  resolu 
tion  and  take  a  family  dinner  with  them,  though  I  had  vowed  to  ac 
cept  no  such  invitations.  I  hope  that  he  and  I  are  to  be  quite  thick 
ere  I  leave — if  such  a  stick  as  I  may  be  thick  with  any  one.  Mrs. 
Smith  is  an  invalid  on  the  sofa,  and  she  and  I  regard  each  other  I  be 
lieve,  with  fellow  interest  on  that  account ;  I  was  taken  with  her  very 
much,  and  with  the  little  girl  too,  who  seems  destined  to  make  hearts 


144:  LAMB    AND    HOOD. 

ache  hereafter.  She  has  all  the  blossom  of  a  beauty  about  her. 
There  were  some  grown-up  misses  making  a  call,  so  that  we  had  not 
our  visit  all  to  ourselves,  but  Smith  and  I  contrived  to  gossip  ;  he 
calls  here  to-morrow.  I  should  have  liked  to  make  one  at  Green's. 
Your  account  of  it  is  very  amusing.  Your  meeting  with  Reynolds 
pleases  me  much,  and  your  liking  of  him,  which  I  find  is  reciprocated 
on  his  part.  I  trust  you  will  sometimes  meet  in  Robert  Street,  if  there 
still  be  such  a  place.  We  are  to  be  up  at  the  Golden  Square  party, 
or  rather  I  am  to  be  up  to  everything  on  Thursday,  and  we  shall 
meet  in  the  evening  of  that  day.  Don't  you  think  a  crowded  assem 
bly  may  have  all  the  effect  of  a  hot-air  bath  ?  But  the  real  thing  is 
Brighton.  C.  C.  did  not  give  it  a  fair  trial,  he  was  only  sham-sham 
pooed  and  dived  not  into  the  bath,  but  the  bathos.  The  fact  is,  he 
mistakes  his  complaint — he  keeps  his  room  and  calls  it  n?6>m-atism  ; 
no  man  who  pretends  to  such  an  affliction  should  lay  claim  to  Fairy 
Z^-ends. 

I  am  much  amused  with  a  squad  of  mer-men  before  the  window 
—I  observe  they  never  walk  more  than  eight  paces  on  end — and 
then  "  bock  again  "  all  things  by  turns  and  nothing  long.  They  seem 
like  old  duellists  so  accustomed  to  that  measure  of  ground  that  they 
can't  help  it.  To-day  has  been  beautifully  fine  ;  sunshine  and  a 
fresh  breeze  ;  luckily  all  the  winds  have  been  from  South  and  West — 
great  points  in  my  favour  and  quite  "  equal  to  bespoke."  I  watch 
over  the  expanses,  and  Jane  over  the  expenses,  so  that  I  am  more 
careless  than  cureless,  and  enjoy  myself  as  though  there  were  no 
Tilts*  in  being.  I  hear  the  waves  constantly  like  "  wood-peckers  tap 
ping"  the  hollow  beach.  Jane  says  there  is  something  solemn  and  re 
ligious  in  its  music,  and  to  be  sure,  the  sea  is  the  Psalter  element. 
Besides  my  warm  baths,  in  hobbling  along  the  beach  a  great  surge 
gave  me  an  extempore  /cementation  of  the  feet  and  ankles,  so  that 
I  have  tried  the  cold  bath  also.  But  wrehave  not  had  any  Elizabethan 
sea,  that  is  in  the  ruff  state,  though  we  have  violently  desired  to  see 
a  storm,  and  a  wreck,  a  pleasure  admirably  described  by  Lucretius — 

*  His  publisher. 


LAMB   AND    HOOD. 

"  'Tis  sweet  to  stand  by  good  dry  land  surrounded, 
And  see  a  dozen  of  poor  seamen  drownded." 

In  the  meanwhile  Jane  has  picked  up  three  oyster-shells  and  a 
drowned  nettle  as  marine  curiosities — also  a  jelly  fish,  but  she  fears 
it  will  melt  in  her  bag  and  spoil  more  watches.  She  enjoys  every 
thing  akin  to  the  sea,  even  our  little  moreen  curtains,  and  swears  that 
Ossian's  poems  are  nothing  to  Ocean's.  She  is  only  astonished  to 
find  sheep  in  the  Downs  instead  of  ships.  With  great  labour  I  have 
taught  her  to  know  a  sloop  from  a  frigate,  but  she  still  calls  masts 
masks.  Pray  tell  Mrs.  B.  that  Mrs.  II.  will  write  to  her  to-morrow 
if  the  tide  comes  in — it  is  at  present  low  water  with  her  ideas.  The 
fact  is  she  gets  fat  and  idle,  but  she  was  always  idolized.  The  Fairy 
Legends  she  has  perused  (borrowed  of  Moxon)  but  don't  send  her  any 
books  here,  as  it  will  be  more  kindness  thrown  away.  I  have  offered 
to  get  Whims  and  Oddities  for  her  at  the  Library,  but  she  says  she 
wishes  for  something  lighter  and  newer.  She  has  over-fed  herself 
like  the  bull-finch,  and  I  am  persuaded  can't  read.  Pray  give  my 
kind  regards  to  Mrs.  Balinanno  with  my  best  thanks  for  all  her  good 
wishes,  though  she  may  suffer  by  the  fulfilment,  as  I  am  regaining 
my  impertinence,  the  tide  is  coming,  in,  and  the  post  going  out,  so 
I  must  shorten  sail.  It  is  lucky  for  you  we  stay  but  a  week,  or  you 
would  find  our  post  quite  an  impost.  Thanks  for  the  frankness  of 
yours,  we  don't  hold  them  cheaply  notwithstanding.  I  am,  my  dear 
Balinanno,  yours  very  sincerely, 

THOMAS  HOOD. 

The  above  letter  is  an  excellent  specimen  of  Hood's  bantering  style 
towards  the  wife  he  so  fondly  loved  and  trusted  in.  Sometimes, 
perhaps,  the  jest  was  pointed  a  little  too  keenly,  but  never  did  the 
sweet  face  or  gentle  voice  of  Mrs.  Hood  betray  anything  like  cloud 
or  exasperation,  even  when  put  to  tests  which  would  have  proved 
eminently  trying  to  the  female  patience  of  many  modern  Griseldas. 


HOOD    TO   8IK   THOMAS    LAWKENCE. 


LETTER    FROM    HOOD    TO    SIR    THOMAS  LAWRENCE. 

"31  KING'S  ROAD,  BRIGHTON, 
"SUNDAY  MORNING,  Nov.  10,  1828. 
"  MY  DEAR  SIR, 

"  There  are  some  sketches  of  Brighton  (in  Cooke's  copper),  and  I 
have  undertaken  to  scribble  some  notes  on  the  margin  of  the  sea. 
To  this  end,  I  am  enjoying  the  breezes  which  I  iuh-ale  like  a  sea- 
sider,  looking  over  a  prospect  that,  in  its  calm,  reminds  me  of  a  sea- 
peace  by  Vandervelde,  and  in  its  shingles,  of  Beechey.  It  is  now 
like  royal  Bessie  in  its  rough  :  and  the  wind,  that  great  raiser  of 
waves,  is  accompanied  by  a  suitable  lather  on  Neptune's  face.  It  is, 
besides,  high-water— or  more  properly  high  waiter,  for  the  tide  serves 
at  the  Bar,  and  there  is  a  great  influx  of  the  weeds  that  grow  in  '  the 
Garden  of  the  Gull,'  L  e.,  Sea  Gull.  Afar  off,  a  lonely  vessel  is 
tumbling  about,  and  observe  there  the  goodness  of  Providence,  that 
the  rougher  the  storm,  the  better  the  vessel  is  pitched,  while  here  and 
there  in  the  foreground,  may  be  seen  what  Moliere  with  his  French 
inversion  would  call  a  Tar^tough.  The  skeleton  of  a  lost  Brig,  like 
the  bones  of  a  sea  monster,  lies  at  the  extreme  left.  I  am  told  by 
the  Brighton  people  that  ship  disasters  are  not  uncommon  here,  they 
have  often  had  Georgius  Itex.  You  will  understand,  Sir,  from  this 
sample,  that  my  Guide  will  be  unserious  chiefly  ;  but  I  contemplate 
a  graver  description  of  the  Pavilion  provided  I  can  gain  entrance 
to  the  interior,  which  I  understand  is  more  difficult  than  aforetime. 
In  a  conversation  with  Mr.  Balmanno,  it  occurred  to  me,  however, 
that  you  could  put  me  in  the  way,  for  I  do  not  even  know  the  proper 
quarter  to  apply  to  amongst  the  Chain  Piers,  but,  of  course,  not 
Captain  Brown's.  I  have  spent  some  time  in  making  up  my  mind 
to  trouble  you  on  this  subject  or  head,  considering  how  many  better 
ones  engage  you.  But  pray  frame  some  excuse  for  my  freedom, 
which  originates  in  my  reliance  on  your  kindly  feeling  towards  me. 


HOOD    TO    SIR    THOMAS    LAWRENCE.  147 

I  have  no  doubt  but  that  you  can  at  any  rate  direct  me  how  to  get 
access,  and  even  that  will  aceessively  oblige, 

"  My  dear  Sir, 

"  Yours  very  respectfully, 

"  THOMAS  HOOD. 

a  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence,  P.ll.A. 
"  &c.,  &c.,  eve." 


MRS.   COWDEN    CLAKKE. 


149 


TO  MRS.   COWDEN   CLARKE. 

WHO    SPENT    TWELVE    YEAUS    IN    COMPILING    UEK 
"COXCOKUANOE  TO  6HAKESPEAUE."1 


"vv 


Vot'ress 

at  great  Shakespeare's  shrine, 
Who,  echoing  every  word  and  line, 
A  follower  in  his  steps  divine, 

Adorable  and  bright ! 
Still  basking  in  the  hallowed  beam, 
Still  bathing  in  the  living  stream, 
Till  twelve  full  years,  passed  like  a  dream, 

Had  vanished  out 


Oh  !  wondrous  love,  with  power  combined ! 
Thrice  noble  constancy  of  mind ! 
A  worship,  ardent  and  refined 

As  aught  on  earth  we  know. 
Lady,  to  thec  may  spirits  fair 
From  Shakespeare's  self  sweet  greetings  bear, 
Warbled  amid  the  fragrant  air 

Where  early  violets  blow. 


While  fairies  leap  from  bud  and  bell, 
Light  dancing  to  the  unseen  swell 
Whose  soft  aerial  numbers  tell 

Of  fairer  worlds  than  ours  : 
Where  genius  still  with  upward  flight 
Soars  ever  nearer  to  the  light, 
Strong  in  its  proud  immortal  right 

Of  higher  aims  and  powers. 


TESTIMONIAL    CHAIR.  151 

So  highly  gratified  were  the  people  of  America  with  Mrs.  Clarke's 
Concordance  to  Shakespeare,  that  a  subscription  was  set  on  foot 
a  few  years  ago,  to  present  her  with  a  fitting  testimonial  of  grati 
tude  in  the  shapg  of  a  magnificent  Library  Chair,  constructed  of 
rosewood,  and  beautifully  carved  with  emblems  of  Shakespeare. 
Subscriptions  came  in  from  eighteen  different  States  of  the  Union, 
amounting  to  four  hundred  dollars.  The  chair  was  presented  by  the 
Hon.  Abbot  Lawrence,  then  American  Minister  in  London.  It  must 
have  been  very  gratifying  to  this  lovely  and  accomplished  lady,  to 
receive  such  an  unexpected  compliment  from  a  distant  land — par 
ticularly  as  it  was  accompanied  by  the  letters  which  transmitted  the 
subscriptions.  The  following  is  a  copy  of  that  written  by  the  Hon. 
Daniel  Webster,  Secretary  of  State,  in  answer  to  one  soliciting  him 
to  head  the  subscription  with  his  distinguished  name : — 

"  WASHINGTON,  July  llth,  1851. 
"  DEAR  SIR, 

"  I  had  the  pleasure  of  receiving  your  highly  valued  letter  of  the 
19th  of  last  month,  at  the  moment  of  leaving  this  city  for  a  visit  to 
Virginia.  On  my  return  I  looked  up  the  letter,  but  do  not  find  the  cir 
cular.  I  shall  most  heartily  concur,  my  dear  sir,  in  a  testimonial  of 
approbation  to  the  lady  to  whom  you  refer,  and  am  quite  ready  to 
sign  the  subscription,  first,  or  last,  or  anywhere.  Her  work  is  a  per 
fect  wonder,  surprisingly  full  and  accurate,  and  exhibiting  proof  of 
unexampled  labour  and  patience.  She  has  treasured  up  every  word 
of  Shakespeare,  as  if  he  wrere  her  lover  and  she  were  his.  I  expect 
to  be  at  the  Astor  House,  about  the  middle  of  next  month.  Pray 
give  me  an  opportunity  to  place  my  name  among  the  contributors  to 
the  Testimonial.  I  am,  dear  sir,  yours  with  entire  regard, 

"DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

"P.  S. — Of  thoseof  my  personal  friends  whoknow  Shakespeare  best 
and  admire  him  most,  is  Mrs.  Edward  Curtis,  of  your  city.  She  first 
made  me  acquainted  with  this  admirable  Concordance,  and  I  pray 
you  to  give  her  an  opportunity  of  signifying  her  exalted  opinion  of 
it  by  subscribing  to  the  testimonial." 


152 


TESTIMONIAL    CHAIR. 


The  above  engraving  may  serve  to  convey  some  idea  of  this  well- 
deserved  and  appropriate  tribute,  at  once  honourable  to  the  givers 
and  the  receiver.  To  the  combined  taste  of  Mrs.  Curtis  and  Mrs. 
Webster  must  be  attributed  much  of  its  richness  of  effect,  since  to  those 
ladies  is  owing  the  selection  of  the  magnificent  gold-coloured  brocade 
which  forms  so  happy  a  contrast  to  the  sombre  hue  of  the  rosewood 
carvings  of  the  surrounding  frame-work. 


153 


TO  MUS.   COWDEN   CLAHKE. 

ALL  honour  to  the  lady  fair 

\Vho  honours  thus  the  Shakespeare  chair. 

May  all  her  clays  speed  on  with  joy — 

No  sorrow  wound,  no  care  annoy  ; 

May  sunrise  find  her  bright  and  happy — 

The  moon  rise  snug,  composed,  and  nappy  ; 

And  may  each  thought,  as  on  it  flows, 

Call  forth  a  laurel  or  a  rose, 

Till  a  bright  chaplet,  fading  never, 

Entwines  around  her  brow  for  ever. 

Such  are  the  wishes,  frank  and  free, 

From  the  blest  land  of  Liberty 

Sent  to  the  gracious  lady  fair 

Who  honours  thus  the  Shakespeare  chair. 


20 


BELL'S   STATUETTE    OF    SHAKESPEARE. 

Among  the  innumerable  objects  which  adorn  the  world  of  Art, 
Mr.  John  Bell's  Statuette  of  Shakespeare  is  fully  entitled  to  a  high 
pre-eminence.  The  figure  is  eighteen  inches  high,  and  of  the  mate 
rial  called  Parian.  The  poet  is  represented  in  the  dress  of  the  period 
in  which  he  lived.  The  aspect  is  calm  and  contemplative,  and  of 
an  inconceivable  grace  and  dignity.  This  lovely  chef-d'oeuvre,  when 
viewed  partially,  but  not  quite  in  profile,  with  the  light  descending 
on  the  features,  is  exquisite  ;  full  of  purity  and  repose,  it  gives  the 
idea  of  a  mighty  mind  concentrated  in  its  own  imaginings  ;  impressing 
on  the  beholder,  that  he  has  before  him  a  reflection  from  the  actual 
spirit  of  Shakespeare.  A  soul  breathes  through  the  marble,  thus  re 
alizing  the  noblest  effort  of  the  artist,  an  effort  whose  attainment 
gives  the  stamp  of  true  genius  to  his  work,  and  especially  hallows 
the  Sculptor's  art.  To  a  devout  worshipper  of  the  immortal  Bard, 
the  effect  produced  by  this  mind-breathing  form  and  face,  is  like  that 
experienced  by  a  lover  when  gazing  on  the  highly  finished  miniature  of 


BELL'S    STATUETTE    OF   SHAKESPEARE.  155 

his  mistress.  It  haunts  his  imagination  when  the  object  is  no  longer 
visible — rises  unbidden  in  the  silence  of  his  solitary  hours,  to  return 
again  and  again,  a  "  thing  of  beauty  and  a  happiness  forever."  Such 
is  the  effect  produced  by  this  eminent  sculptor's  statuette  of  Shake 
speare. 

A  lady,  to  whom  the  lovers  of  Shakespeare  are  under  greater 
obligations  than  to  all  the  commentators  and  emendators  put  together, 
thus  writes,  on  receiving  a  small  daguerreotype  taken  from  the 
statuette  by  Mr.  Gabriel  Harrison  of  Brooklyn  : 

"  On  my  return  from  our  visit  to  Ugbrook  Park,  I  found  the 
dainty  little  packet  containing  the  elegant  gift,  that  exquisite  daguerre 
otype  of  Shakespeare,  in  its  beautiful  case.  We  all  agree  that  we 
have  not  seen  a  more  tasteful  thing  altogether,  for  many  a  long  day. 
The  more  I  look  at  this  charming  little  daguerreotype  figure,  the 
more  I  admire  it.  It  is  so  beautifully  simple  in  attitude,  so  easy  in 
dress,  so  Shakespearean  in  short.  The  droop  of  the  head  thoughtful 
and  reposeful,  bringing  into  prominence  the  broad  expansive  forehead, 
suggests  intellectual  supremacy  better  than  all  t-he  upturned  looks 
and  eyes  cast  to  heaven,  that  were  ever  invented  by  the  Frenchy  im 
agination  of  a  Roubilliac  to  represent  ideality.  Poetic  reverie  does 
not  take  a  displayful  and  commonplace  air.  When  William  Shake 
speare  wrote  his  great  creations,  we  do  not  fancy  him  holding  a  pen 
cil  to  his  brow,  after  the  manner  of  a  melodramatic  actor.  In  the 
lovely  little  portrait  of  him  that  now  lies  before  me,  we  may  picture 
him  to  ourselves  as  just  pausing  in  one  of  his  field  strolls  around  green 
Stratford-on-Avon,'and  pondering  some  suddenly  conceived  thought 
or  fresh  inspired  scene.  The  very  closure  of  the  hand  has  elo 
quence  in  it." 

The  writer  of  this  eulogium  is  Mary  Cowden  Clarke,  authoress 
of  that  invaluable  work  the  Concordance  to  Shakespeare,  a  work  of 
immense  labour,  which  nothing  but  an  enthusiastic  love  and  perseve 
rance  could  have  accomplished.  Twelve  long  years  did  this  lady 
occupy  on  the  work,  and  four  more  in  correcting  the  press.  Not 
withstanding  its  vast  amount  of  matter,  its  accuracy  is  unrivalled,  not 
one  erratum  is  to  be  found  from  beginning  to  end. 


THOMAS   CROFTON    CHOKER. 

HE  "  Fairy  Legends  of  the  South 
of  Ireland,"  have  made  the  name 
of  their  author  known  through 
out  the  world.  By  his  lamented 
death,  Ireland  has  lost  one  of  her 
most  gifted  sons ;  her  fairy-lore 
and  ancient  traditions,  their  most 
eloquent  narrator  ;  one,  who 
bringing  to  the  task  the  stores  of 
a  highly  cultivated  mind,  the 
brilliant  glow  of  a  most  vivid 
imagination,  and  the  fervid 
warmth  of  a  gay  and  generous  heart,  accomplished  it  in  a  manner 


THOMAS    CIIOFTON    CHOKER.  157 

which  at  once  placed  him  amongst  the  most  popular  writers  of  the 
present  day. 

But,  while  the  reading  world  regret  the  loss  of  the  lively  and 
graphic  author,  who  delighted  them  with  his  racy  anecdotes,  and 
inimitable  delineations  of  the  rough  emeralds  of  his  native  isle,  their 
superstitions,  and  their  drolleries,  with  here  and  there  a  touch  that 
kindles  deeper  feelings,  there  are  others,  who  though  not  allied  to 
3iim  by  the  ties  of  blood,  lament  him  as  the  beloved,  the  generous, 
the  ever  faithful  friend  ;  by  them  his  loss  is  felt  to  be  irreparable, 
and  mourned  with  an  honest  sorrow  proportionate  to  his  many  admi 
rable  qualities  and  virtues.  Memory  loves  to  recal  him  in  his  bright 
est  days,  the  time  of  vigour,  of  vividness,  and  of  hope.  In  those  days 
when  in  the  society  of  L.  E.  L.,  Miss  Roberts,  Keightley,  Lemon, 
"W.  II.  Brooke,  and  a  host  of  others,  his  contemporaries  in  literature 
and  art,  his  brilliant  dark  eyes  dancing  in  light,  as  he  described  some 
incredible  feat  or  shrewdly  turned  repartee  of  his  witty  and  light- 
hearted  countrymen,  his  own  spirit  the  most  buoyant  of  them  all. 
How  well  he  described  these  things !  How  delightful  to  listen  to  his 
recitals !  Full  of  ardour  and  genius,  replete  with  all  the  bright  ima 
ginings  that  wait  on  a  vivacious  temperament,  and  with  the  first 
bloom  of  successful  authorship  hanging  fresh  about  him,  he  was 
then  entering  life  under  the  happiest  auspices,  his  presence,  infec 
tious  of  joy,  diffusing  pleasure  wherever  he  came,  while  a  rich  vein  of 
humour,  conversation  of  infinite  variety,  and  an  ardent,  earnest  man 
ner,  lent  a  charm  to  every  endowment. 

Mr.  Croker,  like  his  celebrated  countryman  "Moore,"  was  small 
in  stature,  with  a  countenance  full  of  fire  and  sweetness.  Then,  what 
a  laugh- — there  rang  in  its  joyous  sound,  the  musical  cheer  of  a  whole 
battalion  of  fairies !  What  dark,  radiant  eyes  !  flashing  and  sparkling 
with  every  variation  of  mood  ;  their  light,  even  when  the  lids  were 
lowered,  shining  between  the  long  curled  lashes.  Sir  Walter  Scott, 
struck  with  these  beautiful  eyes,  likened  them  to  those  of  a  hawk. 
To  these  natural  attractions  was  added  a  complexion  glowing  with  the 
tints  of  youth  and  health,  the  bright  suffusion  that  comes  and  goes 
so  readily  with  every  emotion,  and  which  we  look  for  in  vain  in  ma- 


158  THOMAS  CEOFTON  CHOKER. 

turer  years.  An  elderly  friend,  whose  pale  face,  interlined  with  care 
and  thought,  presented  a  marked  contrast,  one  night  at  a  party  whis 
pered  to  his  neighbour  with  a  sigh,  as  he  gazed  on  Croker's  animated 
countenance  :  "  My  God  !  what  a  colour  that  young  creature  has 
got !  and  his  eyes  !  they  actually  shoot  tire  !" 

Our  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Croker  commenced  soon  after  the  ap 
pearance  of  his  first  two  volumes  of  Fairy  Legends;  in  consequence 
of  sending  him  a  story  told  to  us  by  Fuseli,  to  whom  it  had  been 
related  by  Captain  Steadman,  author  of  the  History  of  Surinam,  as 
a  circumstance  that  had  actually  come  under  his  own  observation 
while  on  his  way  to  a  literary  dinner  party,  which  Mr.  Joseph  John 
son,  formerly  a  well-known  bookseller  in  St.  Paul's  Churchyard,  was 
for  a  great  number  of  years  in  the  habit  of  giving  every  Friday  to 
authors  and  artists.  It  was  at  his  house,  during  the  wearisome  ten 
minutes  which  usually  precede  the  announcement  of  dinner,  that  the 
captain  poured  into  the  attentive  ear  of  the  marvel-loving  Fuseli, 
the  following  story  of  the  little  Fairy-man  : 

"  On  my  way  from  Turnham-Green  to  town  this  morning,  while 
seated  in  a  corner  of  the  stage,  which  was  rumbling  along  at  its  usual 
rate,  and  contained  several  persons  besides  myself,  a  strange  sort  of 
noise  in  the  air  made  me  look  out  of  the  window,  when,  what  should 
I  see,  but  a  little  withered  old  man  about  two  feet  high,  in  scarlet 
coat,  and  cocked  hat,  with  a  gold-headed  cane  in  his  hand,  which  he 
swished  about,  making  a  great  cloud  of  dust — striding  along  the  foot 
path  at  such  a  pace  as  to  keep  up  with  the  stage,  whose  passengers 
crowding  to  the  window,  gazed  upon  him  in  a  state  of  stupefaction. 
Although  so  little,  he  was  very  well  made,  and  seemed  to  know  it, 
carrying  himself  in  a  military  manner,  and  writh  that  swingin'g  stride 
peculiar  to  soldiers  ;  his  face  was  all  puckered  up,  and  his  eyes  stand 
ing  out  like  those  of  a  lobster  ;  he  stared  at  us,  quite  as  much  as  we 
did  at  him,  and  seemed  now  and  then  to  bid  us  defiance  by  twirling 
his  mustachios — and  looking  as  if  he  could  devour  us.  All  at  once, 
he  stepped  out  at  such  a  pace,  that,  by  Jove,  in  less  than  a  minute  he 
had  outwalked  the  coach,  and  left  us  behind,  hardly  knowing  whether 
to  believe  the  evidence  of  our  senses  or  riot.  At  last,  when  opposite  the 


THOMAS  CKOFTON  CROKER.  159 

well-known  green  lane  leading  up  to  Holland  House,  he  whisked  into 
it,  and  we  lost  sight  of  him  altogether,  for  though  the  stage  passed  the 
entrance  of  the  lane  directly  afterwards,  and  every  eye  was  fixed  upon 
it,  endeavouring  to  get  another  glimpse  of  his  figure,  we  never  again 
caught  sight  of  the  little  fellow."  Ridiculous  as  this  story  may  appear, 
Captain  Steadman  always  vouched  for  its  truth,  declaring,  even  to  his 
dying  day,  that  he  had  actually  seen  this  little  military  apparition ;  and 
what  makes  the  assertion  more  remarkable  is,  that  the  alleged  circum 
stance  was  related  by  the  captain  to  Fuseli  before  dinner,  instead  Rafter. 
The  transmission  of  this  story  to  Mr.  Croker  laid  the  foundation  of 
a  friendship  which  after  remaining  unbroken  for  more  than  thirty 
years,  has  only  been  severed  by  death.  During  its  continuance, 
much  interesting  correspondence  has  taken  place,  chiefly  relative  to 
those  antiquarian  pursuits  in  which  Mr.  Croker  so  much  delighted, 
and  which  he  has  often  told  us  commenced  when  quite  a  child,  his 
sister  being  an  enthusiastic  sharer  with  him  in  all  his  juvenile  efforts. 
A  little  anecdote  is  related  of  her  in  an  article  which  appeared  in 
the  Dublin  University  Magazine,  showing  the  zeal  with  which  she 
endeavoured  to  aid  him  in  forming  his  first  collection  :  "  On  being 
shown  some  toy  which  interested  her,  and  which  she  considered  cu 
rious,  she  exclaimed:  '  Oh!  give  me  that,  sir,  for  my  brother;  he  is 
such  an  antiquarian.' ''  In  his  pedestrian  excursions  through  the 
south  of  Ireland  Mr.  Croker  not  only  gathered  the  materials  for  the 
"  Fairy  Legends  "  which  made  his  name  at  once  so  deservedly  popu 
lar,  but  also  enriched  the  musical  world,  by  bringing  to  its  notice  a 
great  number  of  beautiful  ancient  Irish  airs,  besides  making  nume 
rous  excellent  drawings  and  sketches.  Moore  alludes  to  Mr.  Croker 
when,  in  a  note  to  his  seventh  number  of  Irish  melodies,  he  says  : — 
"  One  gentleman  in  particular,  whose  name  I  shall  feel  happy  in 
being  allowed  to  mention,  has  not  only  sent  us  nearly  forty  ancient 
airs,  but  has  communicated  many  curious  fragments  of  Irish  poetry, 
and  some  interesting  traditions  current  in  the  country  where  he  re 
sides,  illustrated  by  sketches  of  the  romantic  scenery  to  which  they 
refer ;  all  of  which;  though  too  late  for  the  present  number,  will  be 
of  infinite  service  to  us  in  the  prosecution  of  our  task." 


THOMAS    CllOFTON    CEOKER. 

From  the  west  of  liis  native  county,  Cork,  Mr.  Croker  procured 
the  Irish  melody  to  which  Haynes  Bayley  afterwards  wrote  his  song 
of  "  Oh  no,  we  never  mention  her,"  and  with  that  generosity  which 
was  one  of  his  main  characteristics,  continually  lavished  on  his  friends 
with  warm-hearted  carelessness  the  treasures  gathered  by  himself 
with  so  much  toil  and  research,  and  which  more  selfish  natures  would 
have  scrupulously  hoarded  to  enrich  themselves. 

Throughout  his  life  Mr.  Croker  united  in  himself  Author,  An 
tiquary,  and  Artist,  the  latter  as  an  amateur,  yet  to  sketch  beauti 
fully,  seemed  to  him  as  easy  as  to  write ;  his  aptness  in  this  respect, 
forming  a  never  failing  source  of  delight  to  his  friends  and  corre 
spondents. 

Mr.  Croker  was  extremely  fond  of  children,  with  whom  he  in 
dulged  in  a  thousand  freaks  and  gambols  playful  as  their  own  :  as  a 
matter  of  course,  they  were  invariably  delighted  whenever  he  came 
amongst  them,  his  visits  being  made  occasions  of  little  festivals  got 
up  expressly -in  his  honour;  all  sorts  of  innocent  artifices  being 
resorted  to  in  order  to  gain  him  for  their  own  especial  guest.  Often 
has  he  described  the  joyful  shout  of  childish  voices  which,  in  one 
family  with  whom  he  was  intimate,  but  from  whom  his  residence 
was  at  some  little  distance,  always  heralded  his  arrival ;  watchers 
behind  the  trees  giving  notice  of  the  first  glimpse  of  his  approach 
to  others,  who,  leaping  suddenly  upon  him,  would  cling  like  bees,  only 
to  be  shaken  off  by  the  pretext  of  great  weakness  which  caused  a  sud 
den  prostration  and  a  general  roll-over  on  the  grass.  The  following 
account  of  his  good-humoured  acceptance  of  the  favours  of  his  ju 
venile  admirers,  is  told  by  a  lady  in  her  "  Souvenirs  of  a  Summer  in 
Germany."  "  How  we  used,  when  we  expected  a  visit  from  Crofton 
Croker,  to  search  '  the  twisted  brake  and  bushy  dell '  in  quest  of  his 
favourite  flower,  the  graceful  bindweed.  Many  a  pinafore  was  rent 
in  that  cause,  and  many  a  stitch  did  it  cost  the  grumbling  Abigail  to 
repair  the  damage ;  but  little  was  that  cared  for,  while  the  long 
wreaths  were  brought  in  triumph  and  the  guest  made  to  sit  on  a  mossy 
stone,  or  trunk  of  a  tree,  until  the  curling  tendrils  and  snowy  bells 
were  wound  round  his  straw  hat ;  and  then,  our  holiday  gala  in  the 


THOMAS  CUOFTON  CHOKER. 

garden  summer-house  ;  that  memorable  day  when,  in  reply  to  an 
invitation  written  in  a  large  hand  on  the  leaf  of  a  copy-book,  and 
duly  despatched  to  i  Crofton  Croker,  Esq.,  the  Rookery,'  he  came  at 
the  juvenile  hour  of  six;  how  good-humoured ly  he  drank  the  said 
tea  out  of  a  set  of  tiny  cups  and  saucers  that  would  have  suited  his 
own  Titania  and  Oberon ;  and  how  he  delighted  our  young  hearts 
afterwards  by  making  sketches  of  his  beloved  Black-rock  Gastle  on 
his  thumb  nail,  or  else  drawing  pictures  for  us  with  a  pencil  made 
of  burnt  paper  and  candle  grease.  Very  soft  and  pretty  these  were  ; 
by  the  way,  I  have  one  of  them  still,  a  moonlight  scene,  which  I 
Avould  not  part  with  for  the  world." 

This  love  of  children  never  deserted  him ;  he  entered  into  their 
amusements  with  as  much  zest,  and  brought  forth  his  talents  for  their 
gratification  with  as  much  good- will,  when  Time  had  transformed 
him  into  a  sedate  gentleman  with  gouty  toe,  seated  in  his  tapestried 
library,  as  he  had  done  in  the  merry  time  of  youth,  crowned  with 
flowers  in  the  rural  summer-house,  and  waited  on  by  children  whose 
little  hearts  he  had  made  so  happy.  In  those  gay  clays  of  legend- 
hunting  and  fairy  snatching,  when  prowling  by  day  and  night  among 
lonely  castles  and  desolate  mountains,  gathering  their  dim  supersti 
tions,  and  redeeming  from  oblivion  their  ancient  traditions  and  float 
ing  melodies,  some  of  the  happiest  and  brightest  hours  of  his  life 
were  passed;  every  feeling  enlisted  in  the  cause,  every  vivacious 
element  of  his  nature  attracting  corresponding  qualities  from  all 
around,  that  forming  themselves  into  shape  sprang  forth,  as  visible 
embodiments  of  the  spirits  of  his  native  land.  Joyously  they  arose 
at  his  call,  little  men  and  women  no  bigger  than  a  span  long. 
Cluricaunes  and  Shefroes  ;  Phookas  and  Merrows ;  Pucks  and  Ban 
shees.  Sprites,  for  the  most  part,  of  the  mirthful  order— real  Irish 
fairies — tender  and  pugnacious,  that  spoke  with  the  brogue,  danced 
Irish  jigs — Planxties  and  Eincas— drank  potheen,  gave  battle  or  made 
love,  and  indulged  in  all  the  comforts  and  diversions  peculiar  to  the 
national  temperature,  with  an  exuberance  of  frantic  drollery,  which 
made  them  at  once  favourites  with  all  the  world,  and  gave  them,  with 
their  author,  a  pleasant  place  in  everybody  'a  bosom,  not  only  for  their 

21 


THOMAS    CUOFTON    CliOKKK. 

own  sakes,  but  for  that  of  the  beautiful  land  whose  ancient  memories 
they  so  happily  illustrated. 

In  one  of  the  most  delightful  of  these  excursions,  during  the 
summer  of  1821,  Mr.  Croker  was  accompanied  by  Mr.  Alfred  Nichol 
son  and  his  sister  Marianne,  a  young  lady  of  great  wit,  talent,  and 
amiability,  who  afterwards  became  the  wife  of  Mr.  Croker.  In  a 
drawing  made  at  that  time  by  her  brother,  she  is  represented  seated 
on  an  Irish  jaunting  car  drawn  by  a  ragged-looking  horse,  her  two 
companions  perched  in  a  precarious  manner  on  the  narrow  seats  of 
the  vehicle,  and  the  driver  urging  on  the  horse  over  a  most  wild  and 
uneven  piece  of  road. 

This  tour,  which  extended  over  part  of  the  counties  of  Cork,  "VVa- 
terford,  and  Limerick,  furnished  subjects  for  a  quarto  volume,  the 
united  products  of  their  literary  and  artistic  efforts.  Miss  Nicholson 
contributing  some  exquisite  sketches  for  the  work,  worthy  even  of 
the  pencil  of  her  father,  who  in  his  day  was  justly  considered  one  of 
the  best  water-colour  painters  in  England,  and  the  founder  of  the  Art. 

Their  adventures  among  mountains  and  bogs,  when  benighted, 
or  having  lost  their  way,  Mr.  Croker  declared,  might  have  furnished 
laughter  for  a  month,  and  doubtless  afforded  many  mirthful  recol 
lections  for  them  at  a  subsequent  period  when  seated  by  their  own 
fireside,  doubly  pleasant  then,  to  recal  the  odd  predicaments  in 
which  they  had  been  placed,  and  the  strange  and  amusing  characters 
they  had  encountered  during  their  gipseying  sojourn  in  Ireland. 

From  early  youth,  through  the  period  of  manhood,  and  those  de 
clining  years  to  which  death  has  now  set  his  seal,  the  career  of  Mr. 
Croker  was  alike  brilliant,  fortunate,  and  honourable.  Firm  in  his 
friendships,  upright  in  principle  and  conduct,  in  his  nature  most 
generous  and  affectionate,  his  absence  to  those  who  loved  him  is  a 
light  withdrawn — a  blank  to  which  recollection  brings  the  painful 
thought — we  shall  see  him  no  more,  his  warm  heart  will  never  beat 
again. 

By  his  marriage  with  Miss  Nicholson,  Mr.  Croker  leaves  an  only 
son,  Mr.  Dillon  Croker,  now  about  twenty-four  years  of  age,  who,  in 
heriting  from  his  parents  a  taste  for  literature  and  the  arts,  is  himself 


THOMAS  CROFTON  CHOKER.  163 

an  author,  one  of  those,  who  from  early  childhood  has  been  accus 
tomed  to  express  his  thoughts  with  an  originality  and  vigour  that 
are  at  once  the  omens  and  elements  of  future  fame.  In  mention 
ing  him  it  is  almost  impossible  to  avoid  reverting  to  the  fervent 
and  tender  manner  in  which  Mr.  Cruker  always  expressed  himself 
regarding  this  beloved  son,  who  seems  to  have  been  cherished  in  his 
inmost  heart,  as  the  dearest  treasure  he  possessed. 

Mr.  Crokcr,  who  during  the  whole  of  his  life,  was  a  collector  of 
rare  and  curious  things,  delighted  in  adorning  his  dwelling  with  the 
fragments  and  relics  he  had  accumulated.  His  walls  were  covered 
with  tapestry,  old  paintings,  armour  and  weapons.  His  tables  and 
cabinets  with  an  array  of  antique  wonders  the  most  varied  arid  inter 
esting  that  can  be  imagined,  all  arranged  with  the  most  exquisite 
taste  ;  old  books,  old  rings,  old  carvings — jewels  of  silver,  and  jewels 
of  gold  ;  torques  and  bracelets,  goldsmith's  work  of  wondrous  design 
and  execution,  vases,  antique  seals,  coins,  and  charter-horns  ;  all  with 
histories,  linked  to  traditions  infinite,  and  anecdotes  without  end. 

Among  them,  there  was  one  old  relic  especially  dear  to  its  owner; 
he  called  it,  and  considered  it  to  be  Shakespeare's  betrothal-ring, 
"The  Gimmel-ring,"  which  had  been  placed  by  the  bard's  own  hand 
upon  the  finger  of  his  betrothed  bride  Anne  Hathaway. 

In  a  letter  to  us,  dated  1st  December,  1848,  he  says  : 

"  I  intend  to  seal  this  letter  with  rny  Shakespeare's  betrothing 
ring,  in  Elizabethan  phrase,  'Gimmel  ring.'  The  evidence  upon 
which  its  appropriation  rests  is  now  as  clear  as  extraordinary.  If 
you  have  not  Fairholt's  charming  little  half-crown  book  illustrative 
of  Shakespeare's  life,  I  wrill  send  it  you,  and  in  it  see  the  representa 
tion  of  the  piece  of  painted  glass  from  Shakespeare's  residence  at 
New  Place.  Then  see  the  ring  engraved  in  HalliwelFs  Life  of 
Shakespeare,  and  finally  hear  what  can  be  said  upon  the  heraldry  of 
true-lovers'  knots  from  the  time  of  the  8th  Harry  to  that  of  James 
the  Scot.  These  make  out  my  case. 

"The  ring  itself  came  into  my  possession  at  Gloucester  by  the 
merest  chance,  with  another  of  Roman  workmanship  which  I  then 
considered  to  be  the  most  valuable  of  the  two.  Both  were  bought 


164 


SHAKESPEARE'S    GIMMKL-KING. 


for  something  less  than  one  sovereign,  and  now,  by  the  gods,  I  would 
not  take  a  hundred  for  that  I  then  thought  the  least  worthy.  So 
much  for  being  half  an  hour  too  soon  for  a  railway  train.1' 

The  ring  which  had  been  purchased  at  Gloucester  by  Mr.  Croker, 
was  entirely  formed  of  silver-gilt,  engraved  with  the  letters  W  A, 
interlaced  by  a  true-lover's  knot  of  two  twists  or  ties  ;  this  ring 
was  said  to  have  been  found  at  Stratford-on-Avon.  Mr.  Croker,  in 
producing  it  before  the  Society  of  Antiquaries,  observed  that  there 
could  be  no  doubt  that  this  ring  belonged  to  the  Elizabethan  period ; 
and  the  device  upon  it  showed  that  it  was  a  gimmel  or  betrothing 


The  custom  of  betrothment  before  marriage  was  considered,  in 
the  time  of  Elizabeth,  a  ceremony  nearly  as  solemn  as  that  of  mar 
riage.  A  ring  called  a  gimmel-ring,  or  a  crooked  piece  of  coin,  was 
broken  between  the  contracting  parties,  or  their  parents  or  represen 
tatives,  and  rings  were  interchanged  ;  and  the  sacrament  was  some 
times  taken  previous  to  such  betrothment,  or  when  the  betrothing 
parties  were  considered  too  young  to  be  partakers  of  the  holy  com 
munion,  they  pledged  their  faith  in  cake  and  wine.  The  betrothment 
was  recorded,  and  the  marriage  ceremony  was  delayed  only  until 
circumstances  rendered  it  convenient  or  desirable  that  it  should  take 
place. 

Shakespeare  has  made  the  priest  in  Twelfth  Night  thus  describe  a 
betrothment— 

"  A  contract  of  eternal  bond  of  love, 

Confirmed  by  mutual  joinder  of  your  hands, 
Attested  by  the  holy  close  of  lips, 
Strengthened  by  luterchangement  of  your  rings." 


SHAKESPEARE'S    GIMMEL-KING. 

As  regards  the  single,  double,  and  triple  ties  of  true  lovers'  knots, 
Mr.  Croker  adds  :  "  There  was  a  meaning  in  the  single  tie,  or  Stafford- 
knot,  of  an  entanglement  of  the  affections,  or  a  declaration  of  love ; 
which,  when  the  betrothment  took  place  between  the  two  parties 
mainly  concerned,  became  doubled  for  the  vow  of  faithfulness  ;  when 
no  cohabitation  followed,  the  tassels  or  ends  of  the  knots  were  set  wide 
apart ;  but  when  (as  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Wheeler's  so-called  Shake 
speare's  ring)  cohabitation  before  marriage  had  occurred,  the  tassels 
were  brought  together,  and  the  knot  issued  from  the  form  of  a 
heart.  And  subsequent  to  marriage,  if  the  device  of  a  true-lover's 
knot  was  continued,  the  tassels  became  united  after  forming  a  triple  tie. 
This  triple  tie,  we  are  told,  was  the  ordinary  symbol  among  the 
northern  nations  of  love,  faith,  and  friendship.  Gay  alludes  to  the 
popular  notion  when  he  says— 

"  Three  times  a  true-lover's  knot  I  tie  secure ; 
Firm  be  the  knot,  firm  may  his  love  endure." 

It  now  remains  to  be  shown  in  what  way  the  ring  bearing  the  initials 
W  A  can  be  conjecturally  connected  with  Shakespeare. 

One  of  the  best  authenticated  relics  of  our  immortal  bard  with 
which  we  are  acquainted  is  the  pane  of  glass  represented  in  the 
Home  of  "Shakespeare,"  illustrated  and  described  by  F.  W.  Fair- 
holt,  F.S.A.,  where  the  initials  appear  tied  in  a  true-lover's  knot  of 
three  ties  and  one  tassel.  Mr.  Fairholt  tells  the  history  of  this  piece 
of  painted  glass  and  its  connexion  with  New  Place  so  clearly  that  no 
question  has  been  raised  respecting  it. 

In  Mr.  Halliwell's  Life  of  Shakespeare,  an  engraving  of  the  ring 
found  at  Stratford -on- Avon  in  the  possession  of  Mr.  Wheeler,  and 
supposed  to  have  belonged  to  Shakespeare,  is  given.  It  has  the  let 
ters  W  T,  tied  by  a  true-lover's  knot  of  two  ties  issuing  from  a  heart, 
the  tassels  nearly  meeting.  In  respect  to  the  manufacture  and  en 
graving,  it  closely  resembles  the  one  in  Mr.  Croker's  possession, 
except  that  the  latter  is  of  superior  workmanship.  As  in  the  case 
of  contracting  parties,  the  Christian  names  alone  were  used,  it  be- 


166 


SHAKESPEARE'S    G1MMEL-K1NG. 


comes  probable  that  W  and  A  were  those  of  William  Shakespeare 
and  Anne  Hathaway  upon  betrothment,  which,  after  cohabitation, 

S 
were  exchanged  to  W  S,  and  upon  marriage  restored  to  ^  ^  a 

mode  of  marking  the  plate  and  linen  of  married  persons  not  yet 
quite  obsolete.  At  the  sale  of  Mr.  Ooker's  effects  in  December, 
1854,  this  Shakespeare  ring  was  purchased  by  Mr.  Ilalliwell. 

When  Mr.  Croker  first  sent  us  an  account  of  this  curious  old  love- 
token,  with  the  account  of  the  manner  in  which  it  was  discovered  by 
him,  we  sent  him  the  following  verses,  inserted  here  solely  from  the 
circumstance  of  having  for  their  heroine  the  bride  of  Shakespeare. 


SHAKESPEARE'S   GIMMEL-RING. 


E  fairies  come  from  bosk  and  brake, 

Where'er  the  sun  hath  smiled, 
And  every  bird  that  loves  to  make 
Sweet  music  glad  and  wild. 

II. 

Awake !  awake  !  each  lovely  thing, 

In  earth  or  air  that  dwells, 
To  welcome  Shakespeare's  Gimmel-ring 

Fraught  with  a  thousand  spells. 


SHAKES  I'EAllE'S    G1MMEL-KLNG. 
III. 

Ye  rays  of  light !  around  it  gleam, 

Till  mirror-like  it  show 
The  maid  who  charmed  his  fancy's  dream, 

Three  hundred  years  ago. 

IV. 

She  comes !  no  dame  in  stiff  brocade, 
With  high  and  haughty  mien  ; 

But  fresh  and  fair,  a  village  maid, 
Light  dancing  on  the  green. 

v. 
Her  sunny  hair  with  roses  bound, 

Oh  !  who  so  blithe  and  gay 
'Mong  England's  maidens  might  be  found 

As  Anna  Hathaway? 

VI. 

The  light  of  love  is  on  her  cheek 

And  swiftly  glancing  eye, 
Its  resting  place  not  far  to  seek, 

For  Shakespeare's  self  is  uigh. 

VII. 

Apart  in  blissful  reverie 

'Neath  summer  boughs  he  lies, 

Listening  the  murmuring  melody 
That  fills  the  earth  and  skies ; 


VIII. 

With  thoughts  that  wildly  raptured  stray, 

As  fades  the  setting  sun, 
And  the  lone  nightingale's  sweet  lay 
Is  in  the  woods  begun. 


168 


SHAKESPEARE'S    G I  MM  EL-KING. 


IX. 


From  such  sweet  musing-  see  him  start, 
The  boughs  are  drawn  aside ; 

He  clasps  the  maiden  of  his  heart, 
His  long-loved  promised  bride. 


SHAKESPEARE'S    G IMMEL-RINO. 


169 


Sylphs,  elves,  and  fays  in  sportive  round, 
Flowers  and  sweet  odours  bring, 

And  the  betrothal  vows  are  crowned 
With  Shakespeare's  Gimme  1 -ring. 


XI. 

That  pledge  to  every  fairy  dear, 
Their  last  bequest  hath  been 

Unto  the  favoured  chronielcr,* 
Who  hath  their  revels  seen. 

*  Thomas  Crofton  Croker,  Esq. 

22 


170  THOMAS    CUOFTON    CItOKEE. 

XII. 

Long  live  the  ring,  and  long  may  lie, 

If  so  the  fairies  will, 
Charm  worlds  that  are,  and  worlds  to  be, 

With  Fairy  Legends  still. 

From  a  mass  of  correspondence  we  select  the  last  letter  Mr.  Cro- 
ker  ever  wrote,  as  a  close  to  the  reminiscences  his  lamented  death 
has  awakened. 

"  3  GLOUCESTER  ROAD,  OLD  BROMPTON, 

"  LONDON,  July  21,  1854. 

"  MY  DEAR  BALM  ANNO  : 

"  Surely  I  must  have  acknowledged  to  you  and  thanked  you  for 
all  the  trouble  you  have  taken  on  my  account ;  but  I  may  not  have 
done  so,  in  consequence  of  Mrs.  Croker's  dangerous  and  my  own 
illness,  probably  produced  by  mere  anxiety  and  developing  itself  in 
the  shape  of  gout,  so  sharp  that  I  have  been  able  to  do  nothing, 
and  am  obliged  to  trust  a  servant  to  look  after  my  papers.  The 
whistle  I  received,  and  delivered  with  my  own  hands  to  Lord  Lon- 
desborough,  who  said  he  would  write  and  thank  you  for  it ;  but  the 
death  of  a  favourite  child  a  day  or  two  afterwards,  may  have  pre 
vented  his  lordship  from  having  done  so.  I  forwarded  your  note  to 
Halliwell,  but  I  have  not  seen  him  since.  So  much  in  reply  to  your 
letter,  or  rather  note  of  June  13. 

"  Since  the  25th  of  May,  a  professed  nurse  from  St.  George's  Hos 
pital,  has  been  in  attendance  on  Mrs.  Croker,  with  two  medical  men, 
Mr.  Hewitt,  from  the  former,  and  Mr.  Rouse,  from  St.  Mark's.  She 
certainly  has  improved  under  their  care,  and  to-day  is  lifted  into  a 
carriage  to  seek  out  my  friend  Prior,  whom  I  wish  to  consult  upon 
my  case,  which  I  fear  will  require  a  powerftil  operation.  And  after 
I  see  him,  I  will  hear  what  Sir  William  Burnet  says  to  the  Prior 
statement.  Forgive  the  pun  ;  but  it  is  well  even  to  be  able  to  smile 
at  one's  own  painful  statement  of  facts.  I  have  made  my  will  to 
day,  in  which  I  have  left  tokens  of  acknowledgment  to  you  and 
Mrs.  Balmanno,  scarcely  worth  your  acceptance  perhaps,  and  what 


THOMAS  CROFTON  CHOKER. 


poor  facetious  i  Dick  Millikin,'  of  Cork,  was  wont  to  term  '  May- 
men-too-more-eye.'  To  return  to  self,  I  expect  at  three  to-day,  a 
consultation  of  two  surgeons,  and  a  physician  upon  my  own  case, 
and  so  scribble  this  in  idleness  to  you.  From  my  excellent  wife  I 
have,  of  course,  concealed  (in  her  delicate  state  of  health)  the  worst, 
although  I  cannot  help  anticipating  it  myself,  and  that  this  may  be 
the  last  letter  I  may  have  it  in  my  power  to  write  to  any  one.  Per 
mit  me,  therefore,  my  dear  friend,  to  say  God  bless  you  and  Mrs. 
Balmanno,  your  exemplary  wife,  and  your  boys  ;  and  to  assure  you 
how  sincerely  I  shall  remain  to  the  last,  yours,  T.  Crofton  Croker. 
Pray  write  to  me  again." 

This  letter  affected  us  deeply,  yet  we  hoped  —  in  vain  ;  it  was  in 
deed  his  last  letter,  the  answer  to  which,  although  despatched  imme 
diately,  never  reached  him,  he  having  died  two  days  before  its  arri 
val.  Mrs.  Croker  survived  but  a  little  while  afterwards.  The  part 
ing  mementoes  of  regard  which  he  mentions  as  having  bequeathed 
to  us,  never  arrived.  They  went  down  with  the  unfortunate  Arctic, 
her  ill-fated  passengers,  and  crew. 

On  becoming  acquainted  with  this  event,  Mr.  Dillon  Croker, 
anxious  to  fulfil  as  far  as  possible  every  wish  of  his  father,  presented 
to  us  a  large  piece  of  the  Shakespeare  Mulberry-tree,  with  a  well 
authenticated  history  attached. 


MRS.    REXWICK. 


things  are  more  touching  to  contemplate 
than  the  bright  and  tranquil  sunset  of  a 
well-spent  life  ;  when  the  virtues  and  graces 
which  have  marked  its  long  career,  settle 
brightly  around  its  close,  rendering  its  posses 
sor  honoured,  and  the  home  in  which  he  dwells 
a  centre  of  attraction  to  all  who  have  the  privi 
lege  of  entering  its  charmed  circle.  Such  was 
eminently  the  case  with  the  beloved  and 
revered  Mrs.  Renwick,  a  Scottish  lady,  the 
greater  part  of  whose  life  was  passed  in  the  city  of  New  York, 
where,  up  to  the  advanced  age  of  seventy-seven,  she  adorned  a  high 
social  position  with  all  those  qualities  of  heart  and  mind,  all  those 
sweet  and  captivating  amenities  of  manner,  which  had,  in  her  youth, 
when  joined  to  great  personal  attractions,  rendered  her  one  of  the 
most  fascinating  maidens  of  Annandale  in  Scotland.  Her  father 
was  the  Rev.  Andrew  Jeffrey,  of  Lochmaben  in  Dumfrieshire,  at 
whose  fireside,  the  bright  blue  eyes  of  his  daughter,  the  young  and 
blooming  Jeanie  Jeffrey,  then  only  in  her  fifteenth  year,  attracted 
the  beauty-loving  eye  of  Burns,  who  under  the  impression  they  had 
produced  upon  his  imagination,  made  her  the  subject  of  one  of  his 
sweetest  songs — 


THE    BLUE-EYED    LASSIE. 


I  gaed  a  vvaefu  gate  yestreen, 
A  gate  I  fear  I'll  dearly  rue ; 

I  gat  my  death  frae  twa  sweet  e'en, 
Twa  lovely  e'en  sae  bonnie  blue. 


MRS.    KEN  WICK. 
II. 

'Twas  not  her  golden  ringlets  bright, 
Her  lips  like  roses,  wet  wi'  dew, 

Her  heaving  bosom,  lily-white, 
It  was  her  e'en  sae  bonnie  blue. 


She  talked,  she  smiled,  my  heart  she  wiled, 
She  charmed  my  soul,  I  wrist  na  how, 

And  aye  the  stound,  the  deadly  wound, 
Came  frae  her  e'en  sae  bonnie  blue. 


IV. 

But  spare  to  speak,  and  spare  to  speed, 

She'll  aiblins  listen  to  my  vow  ; 
Should  she  refuse,  I'll  lay  my  dead 

To  her  twa  e'en  sae  bonnie  blue. 

This  beautiful  song,  wliicli  will  be  admired  so  long  as  there  is  a 
lover  of  poetry  in  the  world,  excited  no  vanity  in  the  gentle  bosom 
of  her  who  formed  its  theme ;  on  the  contrary,  the  extreme  modesty 
of  Mrs.  Renwick's  nature,  made  her  shrink  from  the  publicity  thus 
acquired,  and  anxiously  deprecate  any  idea  of  romance  orheroineship 
being  attached  to  her  name,  in  connexion  with  the  song  to  which 
her  youthful  charms  had  given  rise :  yet  often  in  the  familiar  flow 
of  friendly  conversation  has  she  described  with  feelings  most  pleasur 
able  and  animated,  the  universal  joy  which  prevailed  amongst  the 
younger  inmates  of  the  Manse,  herself  included,  when  the  step  of 
their  father's  friend  was  heard  at  the  door ;  the  joyful  enthusiasm 
which  his  appearance  never  failed  to  create,  and  then  the  hushed 
quietness  on  their  part  which  succeeded  his  entrance ;  while  with 
their  creepies  (little  low  foot-stools)  drawn  as  closely  round  him  as 
possible,  they  sat  looking  up  into  his  face,  listening  to  his  eloquent 
words,  and  never  weary  of  watching  the  changes  of  his  varying 
countenance,  and  the  sparkling  flash  of  his  glorious  dark  eyes,  when 


MRS.    REN  WICK. 

kindling  with  his  subject  he  gave  the  rein  to  his  thoughts,  and  spoke 
Well  and  nobly,  like  one  inspired.  Often  have  we  heard  this  charming 
lady  say  that  his  powers  of  conversation  were  unequalled,  feelings 
the  most  ardent,  fancies  the  most  brilliant,  perpetually  leaping  forth, 
and  rendering  the  commonest  theme  from  his  lips,  full  of  newness 
and  beauty.  The  pastor's  hospitable  fireside,  independent  of  its  own 
intrinsic  charm,  must  for  him  have  abounded  in  associations  the  most 
romantic.  Marion  Fairlie,  the  "  Fairlie  fair  "  of  Scottish  song,  being 
the  ancestress  of  Mrs.  Jeffrey,  who,  herself,  was  the  direct  descend 
ant  of  "  Jonnie  Armstrong,"  the  famous  free-booter,  and  had  in  her 
maiden  days  formed  the  theme  of  song  as  the  "  Nannie  ''  of  "  Roslin 
Castle."  The  following  letter  from  Mrs.  Renwick  to  her  sister  Mrs. 
Jeffrey,  of  Canandaigua,  N.  Y.,  which  through  the  kindness  of 
William  Jeffrey,  Esq.,  son  of  that  lady  and  nephew  to  Mrs.  Ren- 
wick,  is  here  permitted  to  appear,  will  doubtless  be  read  with  all  the 
"  interest  which  its  subjects  cannot  fail  to  inspire. 

"  NEW  YORK,  Nov.  13,  1838. 
"  MY  DEAR  SISTER, 

"  Although  our  youngsters  hold  the  pen  of  ready  writers,  and  car 
ry  on  a  brisk  correspondence,  I  am  not  willing  that  you  and  I  should 
be  entirely  laid  on  the  shelf,  and  as  I  am  at  present  quite  alone,  I 
cannot  spend  an  hour  more  pleasantly,  than  in  writing  you  an  account 
of  our  proceedings  for  the  last  four  days.  *  *  I  am  delighted  with 
the  hope  of  having  a  little  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  precious  hair ;  will 
you  say  to  Mr.  Wood,  with  many  thanks  from  me,  that  he  must  be 
so  kind  as  to  send  it  by  mail,  and  not  wait  for  a  private  opportunity. 
It  is  too  valuable  to  be  entrusted  to  anybody. 

"  An  article  in  the  Mirror  induced  me  to  procure  and  read  Cunning 
ham's  Life  of  Burns,  and  I  think  it  is,  as  I  predicted,  very  inferior  to 
that  of  my  departed  friend  Dr.  Currie ;  wanting  sadly  his  delicacy 
and  refinement.  I  can  scarcely  believe  that  Burns  ever  wrote  the 
letter  to  Provost  Maxwell ;  my  dear  father  was  never  spoken  of  but 
with  love  and  reverence,  and  he  is  mentioned  as  '  that  veteran  in 
religion  and  good  fellowship,  Mr.  Jeffrey,'  and  Cunningham  says,  he 


MRS.    REN  WICK.  175 

received  much  information  from  his  son  Hugh  Jeffrey.  I  never  had  a 
brother  named  Hugh,  and  my  own  three  brothers  were,  "William,  at 
that  time  in  the  house  of  Sir  Robert  Herries  in  London,  and  who  died 
many  years  after,  their  agent  in  Bruges.  The  second,  Robert,  was 
at  the  same  period  surgeon  of  the  '  Sir  Edward  Hughes,'  East  India- 
man,  on  board  of  which  vessel  he  died  some  time  after.  John,  the 
third,  your  own  excellent  husband,  was,  you  know,  prosperous  and 
happy  beyond  the  common  lot  of  man,  until  in  the  down-hill  of  life, 
misfortunes  overtook  him,  which,  as  he  looked  on  his  beloved  part 
ner  and  nine  infant  children,  broke  his  noble  heart ;  so  that  at  the 
period  spoken  of,  fortune  was  using  none  of  them  '  hard  and  sharp.' 
As  it  respects  the  much  quoted  'Blue-eyed  Lassie,'  (or  4Lass,'  as 
Cunningham  most  unpoetically  writes  it),  he  says  '  that  the  poet  on 
a  visit  to  King  Brace's  Borough,  drank  tea  and  spent  an  evening  at 
the  Manse,'  intimating  that  that  was  a  solitary  visit ;  and  the  state 
ment  altogether  is  incorrect.  It  was  after  dining  in  company  with 
the  poet,  at  the  house  of  Mr.  Kicol,  who  was  living  at  Moffat  for  the 
benefit  of  his  child's  health,  that  Burns  sent  to  me  the  two  songs, 
'  Willy  brew'd  a  peck  of  Maut,'  and  the  i  Blue-eyed  Lassie.'  Mr. 
Nicol  was  the  '  Willie,'  whose  '  maut  got  aboon  the  meal '  that 
night  with  the  poet.  I  was  only  then  fifteen,  and  sic  a  wee  bit  lassie, 
that  Burns  danced  out  with  me  in  his  arms,  and  put  me  into  the  car 
riage  to  my  father,  singing  c  Green  grow  the  rashes  O.' 

"  Poor,  poor  Burns  !  how  often  have  I  seen  him  in  a  cold  winter's 
night,  when  he  had  been  riding  for  hours  over  the  moors  and  mosses 
after  smugglers  (what  a  task  for  such  a  spirit !)  open  our  little  par 
lour  door  and  stalk  in  with  his  great  lion-skin  coat  and  fur-cap  cover 
ed  with  snow,  and  his  fine  Newfoundland  dog,  Thurlow,  at  his  side, 
looking  stern  and  dour,  as  if  at  war  with  all  the  world ;  with  what 
kindness  he  was  welcomed  by  my  dear  parents,  while  my  sister  and 
self  seated  him  in  my  mother's  easy  chair,  brought  dry  slippers,  and 
prepared  for  him  a  warm-comfortable  cup  of  tea ;  then  seating  our 
selves  on  our  low  creepies  at  his  feet,  watch  his  countenance  brighten 
up  into  almost  more  than  mortal  beauty  and  intelligence,  and  listen 
to  his  inspired  words,  every  one  of  which  was  absolute  poetry.  There 


176  MES-  RENWICK. 

is  no  event  of  my  happy  early  days  that  I  look  back  upon  with  such 
pride  as  having  sat  at  the  feet  of  such  a  man.  He  was,  at  the  time  I 
speak  of,  acting  the  part  of  an  affectionate  husband  and  father ;  and 
even  envy  never  spoke  evil  of  him  at  my  father's  fireside,  and  it  was 
not  until  many  years  after,  when  I  had  long  mixed  with  a  hard-hearted 
world,  that  I  ever  imagined  he  could  do,  or  had  done  wrong.  So 
much  has  been  said  and  written  about  that  weary  Blue-eyed  Lassie, 
that  I  am  tempted  to  give  you,  my  dear  sister,  a  copy  of  a  much 
better  one,  which  I  believe  has  never  been  in  any  of  the  collections 
of  Burns'  works,  and  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  the  compliment  in 
the  last  lines  is  worth  more  than  all  the  other  song. 

"  Now  my  sister,  if  you  can  read  this  long  letter  without  losing 
patience  you  will  deserve  much  credit ;  pray  answer  it,  and  with  kind 
est  love  to  all  my  dear  friends,  believe  me  as  ever, 

"  Your  truly  aifectionate  sister, 

"  JANE  RENWICK. 

"  Cunningham  says,  the  name  of  Willie  Wastle's  wife  is  lost ;  I 
could  tell  him  who  she  was,  but  there  is  no  use  in  opening  old  sores  ; 
—it  is  a  great  pity  that  much  more  of  what  he  has  published  had  not 
been  lost  also,  much  that  poor  Burns  never  intended  to  see  the  light. 
I  am  just  expecting  Frank  Paul  to  dine  with  us,  he  will  take  this 
letter. 

"  JAKE  KEN  WICK." 


THE    SONG. 

When  first  I  saw  my  Jeanic's  face, 

I  could  na'  think  what  ailed  me, 
My  heart  went  fluttering  pit-a-pat, 

My  e'en  had  nearly  fail'd  me. 
She's  aye  sac  neat,  sae  trim  and  tight, 

All  grace  does  round  her  hover, 
Ae  look  deprived  me  o'  my  heart, 

And  I  became  her  lover. 


MRS.    KEN  WICK. 


177 


She's  aye,  aye  sac  blithe  and  gay, 
She's  aye  sac  blithe  and  cheery, 

She's  aye  sae  bonnie  blithe  and  gay, 
O  gin  I  were  her  dearie. 

Had  I  Dundas's  whole  estate 

Or  Ilopetoun's  pride  to  shine  in, 
Did  warlike  laurels  crown  my  fate 

Or  softer  bays  entwine  in, 
I'd  lay  them  a'  at  Jeanie's  feet, 

Could  I  but  hope  to  move  her, 
And  prouder  than  a  peer  or  knight, 

I'd  be  my  Jeanie's  lover. 

She's  aye,  aye,  &c. 

But  sair  I  doubt  some  happier  swain 

Has  gain'd  my  Jeanie's  favour, 
If  sae  may  every  bliss  be  hers, 

Tho'  I  can  never  have  her. 
But  gang  she  east,  or  gang  she  west, 

Twixt  Nith  and  Tweed  all  over, 
While  men  have  eyes,  or  ears,  or  taste, 

She'll  always  find  a  lover. 
She's  aye,  aye,  &c. 

To  those  who  knew  Mrs.  Eenwick  well,  though  only  in  her  latter 
years,  it  could  afford  little  surprise  to  hear  how  enchanting  she  had 
been  in  the  hey-day  of  youth  and  beauty,  when,  as  is  recorded  of  her 
by  one  of  her  cotemporaries,*  "  she  was  a  beautiful  girl,  and  a  most 
elegant  dancer."  Of  medium  height,  her  features  feminine  and 
regular,  with  a  benign,  engaging  aspect,  Mrs.  Eenwick  retained 
even  in  advanced  age,  the  symmetrical  roundness  of  youth,  her  hands 
and  arms  were  beautifully  formed,  their  fulness  of  outline  remaining 
perfect  to  the  last.  Her  complexion,  which  in  youth  must  have  been 
fine  and  clear,  was  still  fresh ;  her  brow  unwrinkled,  and  her  eyes, 
still  those  of  the  Blue-eyed  Lassie,  and  when,  a  short  time  before  her 

*  Tho  late  Charles  Cameron,  Esq.,  formerly  of  Greene,  in  Chenango  county,  N  Y 

23 


178  MKS.    KEN  WICK. 

lamented  death,  she  was  humorously  describing  the  great  number  of 
her  descendants,  her  cheeks  were  dimpled  with  pleasure,  and  she  spoke 
with  such  a  sweet  voice,  laughing  at  the  same  time  so  softly  and 
vet  merrily,  that  it  seemed  no  wonder  she  should  have  made  so  many 
hearts  her  own  in  the  days  o'  lang  syne,  some  sixty  years  ago,  when 
she  was  that  most  beautiful  girl  and  elegant  dancer  described  by 
Mr.  Cameron.  This  gentleman,  a  Highlander  by  birth,  passed  much 
of  his  boyhood  at  Lochmaben,  where  he  describes  himself  to  have 
been  deeply  enamoured  of  "  Jeanie  Jeffrey,"  and  to  have  had  a 
"  great  jealousy  "  in  those  days  of  ane  "  Wully  Brown"  (afterwards 
Sir  William  Brown),  his  powerful  rival,  at  the  dancing-school,  who, 
from  not  being  so  "  Hate  "  as  himself,  obtained  a  far  greater  portion 
of  the  smiles  and  good  graces  of  the  fair  "  Jeanie  "  than  he  himself 
could  boast  of.  Although  Mr.  Cameron,  like  Mrs.  Renwick,  was 
for  so  long  a  period  an  inhabitant  of  America,  they  never  met. 
This  seems  to  be  an  oversight  of  fate — for  surely  it  would  have 
afforded  both  infinite  pleasure  to  fly  back  again  in  conversation  to 
old  times  and  events.  Certainly,  could  either  of  these  admirers  of 
Mrs.  Renwick  in  her  youth,  have  beheld  her  at  seventy-six,  their  ad 
miration  had  not  been  lowered ;  their  sense  of  the  good,  the  gentle, 
the  true,  of  all  that  gives  loveliness  to  female  character,  had  been 
heightened  a  hundredfold.  How  delightful  was  a  visit  to  her  house ; 
the  servants  wore  an  honest,  kindly  look,  as  if  glad  to  see  their  mis 
tress's  friends  ;  every  object  seemed  to  give  warm  and  pleasant  greet 
ing;  while  she  herself  to  whom  time  had  given  a  grace  for  every  one 
it  had  taken  away,  received  her  friends  in  a  manner  that  showed  she 
loved  them,  and  spoke  and  smiled  a  thousand  welcomes.  Seated  upon 
her  crimson  sofa,  with  her  little  pet  dog,  white  and  round  as  a  daisy, 
which  name  it  bore,  surrounded  by  objects  of  taste  and  virtu,  of  ele 
gance  and  luxury,  of  all  that  can  delight  the  eye,  or  charm  the  mind, 
the  beholder  experienced  that  sense  of  pleasure  which  arises  from 
objects  in  just  proportion  arid  harmony  with  each  other ;  the  mistress 
and  the  mansion  were  mutually  accordant,  and  left  on  the  mind  an 
abiding  impression  of  a  most  lovely  and  perfect  home-picture.  The 
apartments  in  general  use  were  lofty  and  spacious,  communicating 


MUS.    HEN  WICK.  17<) 

by  folding-doors,  and  besides  being  highly  embellished  with  pictures 
and  other  works  of  art,  were  adorned  even  unto  gayness  by  the  ele 
gant  little  tributes  of  affection  or  respect  she  was  continually  receiv 
ing  from  her  numerous  highly  accomplished  young  female  relatives 
and  the  "  troops  of  friends"  who  were  in  the  habit  of  visiting  her. 
In  a  conspicuous  situation  hung  a  fine  old  Andrea  Ferrara,  that  per 
chance  had  given  many  a  hard  blow  at  Bannockburn,  and  beneath  it 
a  finely  chased  antique  silver  casket  containing  a  pair  of  the  silk  and 
silver  fringed  gloves  of  the  lovely  Mary  Stuart,  Queen  of  Scotland.* 
These  noble  apartments,  delightful  at  all  seasons,  were  in  summer  espe 
cially  so ;  the  folding-doors  which  divided  them,  being  then  thrown 
open,  the  two  large  bow-windows  open  also,  filled  with  choice  flowers, 
one  of  them  affording  entrance  to  a  long,  narrow  terrace,  overlooking 
beautiful  gardens  and  venerable  trees,  old  Indian  warriors  of  the 
woods,  which  had  been  saplings  when  New  York  was  a  choice  hunt 
ing  ground,  dear  to  her  eye  as  shadowing  the  grounds  of  Columbia 
College,  and  the  house  of  her  son  who  was  its  Professor  of  Chemistry. 
This  pleasant  walk  was  always  in  summer  crowded  with  exotics  large 
and  small,  amongst  which  she  loved  to  walk,  and  from  whose  trea 
sures  she  enriched  the  conservatories  and  drawing-rooms  of  her 
friends  ;  there  also  might  be  found  violets,  daisies,  Scotch-heaths, 
blue-bells  and  the  "  lang  yellow  broom,"  cherished  as  mementoes  of 
that  far  "  long  ago,"  which  spoke  to  her  again  in  its  old  familiar 
flowers.  Amidst  these  charming  objects  of  innocent  and  reflective 
delight,  she  cheerfully  pursued  her  needle-work  or  knitting,  chatting 
vivaciously  on  old  times  or  new,  and  managing,  Heaven  only  knows 
how,  to  make  people  when  they  retired  from  her  presence  have  a 
better  idea  of  themselves,  their  friends,  neighbours,  and  the  world  in 
general.  The  elasticity  and  vigour  of  her  mind  were  wonderful ;  even 
to  the  last  she  read  and  enjoyed  all  the  best  publications  as  they 
came  out,  with  the  same  keen  zest,  and  appreciative  judgment  for 
which  she  had  ever  been  distinguished,  taking  the  greatest  delight 

*  Tliis  interesting  relic  came  into  the  possession  of  Mrs.  Ren  wick,  from  the  representa 
tives  of  her  relative  Professor  Kemp,  of  Columbia  College.  In  liis  family  in  Aberdeeiishire, 
they  had  been  an  heir-loom,  and  were  traced  back  more  than  two  centuries. 


130  MRS>  K 

in  the  fine  passages  and  noble  sentiments  of  her  favourite  authors, 
and  often  devoting  many  hours  after  she  retired  to  her  chamber  in 
perusing  them.  "With  a  true  Scottish  heart,  Mrs.  Renwick  was 
ardently  loyal  to  her  native  land  ;  its  tones  were  music  to  her  ear,  its 
legends  and  auld-warld  stories  rife  in  her  memory  and  often  overflow 
ing  in  her  conversation.  To  think  that  she  was  old  w as  impossible. 
In  her,  the  fire,  the  sensibility,  the  ardent  feelings,  the  generous 
enthusiasm  of  youth,  were  all  so  finely  toned  and  tempered,  so  beau 
tifully  mingled  and  displayed  amidst  the  sedater  virtues  of  riper 
years,  that  she  may  be  regarded  as  one  of  the  "  good  made  perfect," 
who  dies  not  when  the  earth  closes  over  her,  but  lives  in  the  hearts 
and  memories  of  those  who  have  been  blessed  with  her  love  and 
friendship,  or  benefited  by  her  precepts  and  example.  Though 
blessed  beyond  the  common  lot,  and  to  a  superficial  observer  beyond 
the  reach  of  sorrow  ;  with  fortune,  friends,  and  children  worthy  of 
such  a  parent,  yet  has  she  deeply  shared  in  that  inevitable  woe, 
which  all  who  live  must  bear.  From  her  wealth  of  happiness  Death 
lias  exacted  a  heavy  tribute,*  lovely  and  beloved  ones  taken  away  in 
the  bloom  of  youth,  or  full  meridian  of  their  days,  whose  loss, 
humanly  speaking,  was  irreparable — yet  from  each  successive  trial  has 
her  spirit  risen  again  with  calm  and  holy  resignation  ;  cheerful  and 
kind  as  ever  to  all  around,  filling  up  the  daily  routine  of  life  writh  love 
and  beneficence,  the  generous  heart  and  liberal  hand  evidenced  in  all 
her  actions.  With  her,  it  needed  not  the  aid  of  costly  gifts  to  give 
pleasure,  the  simplest  souvenirs  from  her  hand  were  accompanied  by  a 
tenderness,  a  tact,  a  grace,  that  made  trifles  precious  by  her  manner 
of  conferring  them.  This  dear  and  venerable  lady  had  a  perfect  pas 
sion  for  flowrers.  They  bloomed  in  her  apartments  all  the  year  round, 
furnishing  her  with  never-ending  occupation  and  amusement.  Wild 
flowers  especially,  she  delighted  in.  My  last  visit  to  her  house  Avas 
with  a  large  bouquet  of  milk-white  hawthorn,  fresh  and  fragrant  from 
the  woods  of  Iloboken  (that  loveliest  of  all  the  jewels  which  adorn 

*  Of  Mrs.  Ilenwick's  nine  children,  three  only  now  remain.  The  last  mournful  bereave 
ment  she  sustained  was  in  the  loss  of  her  second  daughter,  Mrs.  Wilkes,  wile  of  the  gallant 
Commodore  Wilkes,  Commander  of  the  U.  S.  Antarctic  Expedition. 


MES.    REN  WICK.  181 

the  girdle  of  New  York).  On  arriving  at  her  house,  not  finding  her 
at  home,  I  left  them  to  await  her  return,  strictly  charging  the  servant 
to  tell  Mrs.  Renwick  on  her  arrival  that  the  flowers  had  been  gathered 
in  the  Elysian  fields  (a  part  at  Hoboken,  so  called),  and  sent  to 
her  from  the  spirit  of  one  of  her  friends.  I  anticipated  a  merry 
rejoinder,  but  alas !  it  never  came,  she  died  shortly  afterwards. 
Dear,  honoured  Mrs.  Renwick,  whether  under  that  appellation,  or  as 
the  "  Blue-eyed  Lassie  "  of  Burns,  her  memory  will  be  ever  cherish 
ed  by  those  who  appreciate  the  purity,  the  loveliness  and  the  worth 
of  female  character. 

The  death  of  this  incomparable  lady  leaves  many  mourners,*  not 
only  amongst  her  own  immediate  relatives  and  friends,  but  in  that  cir 
cle  after  circle  which  the  diffusion  of  good  deeds  produces  in  this  life. 
She  expired  in  the  beginning  of  October,  1850. 

*  Amongst  those  the  distinguished  name  of  Washington  Irving  may  fitly  occupy  a  foremost 
position,  not  only  on  account  of  genius  and  virtue,  but  for  the  deep  regard  in  which  he  was 
held  by  Mrs.  Renwick,  whose  house  was  humorously  styled  by  himself,  his  "  Ark,"  in  his 
Hying  visits  to  and  from  New  York.  Trofessor  Charles  Anthon,  Henry  Brevoort,  Esq.,  the 
Hon.  John  Greig  ofCanandaigua,  and  his  amiable  lady,  and  a  host  of  others,  to  the  record  of 
whose  names,  if  I  had  them,  I  would  put  as  a  seal  of  honour,  full  of  noble  quarteriugs  and 
having  for  its  motto,  "I  live  to  do  good,"  the  name  of  Wm.  Wood,  Esq.,  of  Canandaigua,  a 
name,  than  which  few  have  made  so  many  poor  hearts  swell  with  incontrollable  gratitude 
and  emotion.  By  his  thoughtful  care  hundreds  of  sailors  have  been  provided  with  Bibles, 
testaments,  and  other  books  to  accompany  them  on  their  perilous  voyages;  the  wretched 
prisoners  confined  in  the  various  prisons  of  New  York,  who  on  public  holidays,  are  perhaps 
more  miserable  still  from  the  idea  that  they  are  forgotten  amidst  the  general  joy,  he  has 
supplied  not  only  with  books,  but  with  little  feasts  to  show  them  that  they  are  still  remem 
bered  ;  while  for  those  wild,  reckless  little  fellows,  "  the  news-boys  "  of  New  York,  many  of 
whom  have  never  known  father,  mother,  or  friend,  and  whose  home  at  nights,  was  on  old 
packing  boxes  in  the  street,  or  the  cold  shelter  of  an  open  archway,  he  has  provided  the 
opportunity  of  enjoying  a  clean  dormitory,  a  properly  assorted  library,  instruction  in  music, 
and  a  cup  of  hot  collee  with  a  roll  every  night  of  their  lives. 


THOMAS    STOTHARD,    ESQ.,    R.  A  . 

la  XG  LAND  enrols  amongst  her  artist  names  few 
more  celebrated  than  that  of  the  late  venerable 
Thomas  Stothard,  E.A.,  the  most  poetic  of  her 
sons  of  Art,  with  an  exuberance  of  fancy  that 
knew  no  bounds,  and  a  style  whose  distinguish 
ing  characteristic  was  an  unequalled  and  inex 
pressible  grace.  This  enchanting  quality  per 
vaded  all  his  works  ;  it  is  alike  visible  in  his  gay 
groups  of  busy  life  thronging  the  vineyards  of  Greece  or  Italy,  as  in 


THOMAS    STOTirARD,    ESQ.,    H.A. 


183 


the  celebrated  monument  of  "  The  Two  Children  "  sleeping  in  each 
other's  arms  beneath  the  arches  of  Lichh'eld  Cathedral.  The  original 
drawing  for  this  widely  famed  monument  was  made  by  Stothard,  and 
being  executed  in  marble  by  Chantrey,  laid  the  foundation  of  that 
great  sculptor's  fame,  and  throughout  his  subsequent  career,  was  ever 
cited  as  the  most  admirable  of  his  works.  Full  of  tenderness  and  truth, 
the  mind  of  Stothard  governed  his  pencil,  and  his  pictures  accord 
ingly  suggest  only  noble  and  beautiful  ideas,  while  his  figures  grouped 
with  a"  beauty  and  variety  into  which  no  base^or  ignoble  passion  ever 
enters,  please  universally,  and  have  gained  for  this  unrivalled  artist  a 
world-wide  popularity.  Mrs.  Bray,  in  her  exquisite  Life  of  Stothard, 
relates  that  Mr.  Daniel,  a  son  of  the  celebrated  painter,  when 
employed  in  a  government  surveying  expedition  on  the  coast  of  Africa, 
recognised  in  the  hut  of  a  native  African  an  engraving  after  one  of 
Stothard's  designs  suspended  on  the  wall ;  how  it  got  there  it  was 
impossible  to  discover ;  probably  it  might  have  been  in  consequence 
of  some  such  touching  incident  as  that  described  by  Mungo  Park, 
when  rewarding  the  hospitality  of  the  poor  negress  with  one  of  his 
last  treasures,  a  brass  button,  out  of  the  three  that  still  remained 
upon  his  waistcoat.  As  an  illustrator  of  England's  greatest  poets 
Shakespeare,  Chaucer,  Milton,  Spenser,  with  a  list  of  modern  poets, 
and  authors  almost  innumerable,  his  name  will  descend  to  posterity 
in  conjunction  with  theirs ;  far  more  than  any  other  English  artist 
was  he  gifted  with  the  power  of  identifying  himself  with  his  subject, 


184: 


THOMAS    STOTHARD,    ESQ.,    R.A. 


and  of  rendering  by  his  delightful  art,  the  poet's  vision  palpable. 
This  is  felt  in  the  most  forcible  manner,  whilst  gazing  on  his  Canter 
bury  Pilgrims,  his  Ariel,  Miranda,  and  Cordelia.  The  graceful  flow 
of  line  which  marks  all  his  productions  is  particularly  observable  in 
his  designs  for  friezes,  of  which  the  engraving  at  the  foot  of  this  and 
the  three  adjoining  pages  may  serve  to  convey  some  idea.  The  origi 
nals  were  designed  for  the  walls  of  some  of  the  rooms  of  Buckingham 
Palace. 

But  if  the  subjects  alluded  to  are  evidences  of  the  genius  of  the 
Artist,  those  of  a  sacred  and  serious  character  are  still  more  so  ;  in 
these  there  is  a  holy  tenderness  and  devotional  simplicity  which  make 
themselves  felt  by  those  touches  of  truth  and  nature  which  never 
appeal  in  vain. 

Thus,  in  one  of  his  most  celebrated  pictures,  "  Jacob's  dream," 
where  the  sleeper  beholds  angels  ascending,  his  own  foot  is  also 
raised  as  if  about  to  step  upon  the  ladder.  And  again,  in  that  most 
exquisite  production  from  the  Pilgrim's  Progress,  where  Christian  is 
received  by  Discretion,  Prudence,  Piety,  and  Charity,  there  is  such  a 
timid  lingering  of  earthly  love,  visibly  impressed  upon  the  chief 
figure,  as  to  render  it  what  it  is  universally  conceded  to  be,  one  of 
the  purest  and  loveliest  emanations  of  human  genius.  A  painter 
from  his  earliest  years,  and  continuing  to  be  such  until  the  close  of 
his  life  at  the  age  of  seventy -nine,  his  works  are  more  numerous  than 
those  of  any  other  English  artist,  their  number  having  been  esti- 


THOMAS    STOTIIAUI),    ESQ.,    R.A. 


185 


mated  at  ten  thousand,  all  more  or  less  characterized  by  excellence,  and 
particularly  the  one  which  distinguishing  the  works  of  this  artist 
above  all  others,  has  become  proverbial,  and  the  saying  "as  graceful 
as  a  Stothard  "  one  ot  the  common  expressions  in  universal  accep 
tation. 

The  pencil  of  Stothard,  when  exercised  on  a  larger  scale,  as  on 
the  paintings  which  ornament  the  Marquis  of  Exeter's  princely  man 
sion  at  Burleigh,  and  those  which  adorn  the  fine  apartments  at 
Hafod,  in  Wales,  the  seat  of  Colonel  Johnes,  sufficiently  attest  of  how 
much  grandeur  as  well  as  beauty  his  genius  was  capable,  rivalling 
in  these  admirable  works  many  of  the  best  produced  by  the  old 
masters  of  the  Italian  and  Venetian  schools. 

His  design  for  the  Wellington  shield,  remains  as  a  standard  for 
future  works  of  a  similar  kind,  and  is  especially  worthy  of  notice 
in  an  artistic  point  of  view,  as  exhibiting  the  triumph  of  art  over 
difficulties  of  no  common  order. 

It  may  be  said  of  Stothard,  that  he  was  always  a  student,  silent, 
diligent,  and  persevering.  The  old  poets  would  have  loved  him  as 
kindred  with  themselves  in  adoring  that  perfection  visible  in  the 
natural  objects  by  which  we  are  surrounded,  regarding  with  interest, 
nature  in  her  most  evanescent  changes,  and  those  which  some  minds 
consider  her  lowest  works.  The  tints  of  evening,  a  tuft  of  moss,  a 
butterfly,  flower,  bird,  or  even  blade  of  grass,  would  sometimes  rivet 
his  attention  for  many  minutes,  when  after  committing  the  result  to 


18G 


THOMAS    STOTIIARD,    ESQ.,    It. A. 


his  note-book  in  the  shape  of  carefully  drawn  sketch,  or  clearly 
written  memorandum,  he  would  pocket  his  book,  button  up  the 
breast  of  his  coat,  and  pursue  his  walk  with  renewed  vigour.  The 
natural  attitudes  of  children  were  never  lost  upon  him,  and  many'  a 
group  of  little  urchins  playing  on  the  curb-stones,  have  unawares 
had  their  outlines  taken  in  a  few  moments  by  his  practised  hand. 

In  depicting  scenes  of  a  joyous  and  festive  character,  lie  was  per 
fectly  inimitable  ;  one  of  his  finest  specimens  in  this  style  is  a  small 
cabinet  picture,  called  by  himself  Sans  Souci.  It  represents  a  sylvan 
scene,  where  the  noonday  sun,  shining  from  a  blue  transparent  space 
above  the  tops  of  ancient  trees,  lights  up  a  thickly  wooded  glen,  on 
one  of  whose  slopes,  in  the  upper  part  of  the  picture,  appear  the 
turrets  and  battlements  of  a  lofty  chateau,  gleaming  white  and 
pearly  amidst  the  depths  of  the  forest ;  while  in  the  foreground, 
scattered  over  a  gentle  eminence,  groups  of  the  most  beautiful 
figures  of  both  sexes  are  disposed  in  varied  and  graceful  attitudes, 
giving  themselves  up  to  amusements  of  different  kinds,  at  once  giv 
ing  and  taking  beauty  from  the  tranquil  scenery  by  which  they  are 
surrounded. 

This  is  but  cited  as  a  solitary  instance,  for  in  such  subjects  the 
spirit  of  Stothard  rejoiced  ;  scenes  of  gladness  and  innocent  delight 
being  most  congenial  to  his  benevolent  disposition.  Simple  as  a 
child  in  all  that  appertains  to  worldly  wisdom  ;  reading  much  and 
thinking  more,  with  a  calmness  and  equanimity  of  temperament  that 


THOMAS    STOTIIAKD,    ESQ.,    R.A.  187 

nothing  could  disturb,  his  whole  life  was  absorbed  in  the  pursuit  of 
art,  to  which  all  things  were  made  subservient.  Mrs.  Bray  relates 
of  him  that  on  his  wedding-day,  immediately  after  the  ceremony 
which  united  him  to  his  young  and  handsome  bride  whom  he  had 
wooed  and  won  under  many  difficulties,  and  to  whom  he  was  tenderly 
attached,  he  escorted  her  with  all  possible  affection  and  respect  to 
his  house,  and  having  seen  her  safely  bestowed  within  her  future 
home,  repaired  forthwith  in  his  usual  manner  to  the  Royal  Academy, 
where  he  continued  to  draw  from  the  antique,  until  the  closing  hour 
of  three  o'clock,  when  quietly  turning  to  his  friend  and  fellow-student, 
Scott,  he  said,  "  I  am  now  going  home  to  meet  a  family  party  ;  do 
come  and  dine  with  me,  for  I  have  this  day  taken  unto  myself  a 
wife/'  This  apparent  stoicism,  was  merely  that  of  manner,  induced 
by  his  habits  of  study  and  abstraction,  for  he  was  remarkable  for  fond 
affection  for  his  wife,  whom  he  survived  and  mourned  through  long 
succeeding  years,  with  a  quiet  sorrow  that  courted  neither  sympathy 
nor  witnesses.  In  dwelling  on  the  character  of  this  gifted  and  excel 
lent  man,  feelings  of  admiration  are  blended  with  those  of  reverence, 
the  natural  result  of  observation,  for  which  an  intimate  friendship 
of  many  years  gave  scope  and  opportunity.  Like  all  celebrated 
artists,  Mr.  Stothard  delighted  in  the  country,  making  pilgrimages 
to  its  loveliest  rural  haunts  and  traditionary  shrines,  invariably  spend 
ing  his  holidays  amidst  the  woods  and  fields ;  there,  face  to  face 
with  nature,  his  whole  being  underwent  a  change,  and  he  became  at 
once  vigorous,  animated,  and  cheerful. 

On  one  occasion,  wishing  to  honour  his  birthday  in  some  manner 
which  would  give  him  pleasure,  a  little  excursion  from  London  to 
Ilampstead  Heath  was  concerted,  in  which  himself  and  his  only 
daughter  Emma,  together  with  two  or  three  chosen  friends,  were 
participators.  It  was  on  a  lovely  day,  the  17th  of  August,  that 
early  in  the  forenoon  we  set  forth,  citizens  of  London  as  we  were,  to 
enjoy  a  Bummer's  day  in  the  environs  of  Ilampstead.  Our  pros 
pects  of  amusement  comprised  only  all  the  agreeable  qualities  we 
possessed  within  ourselves,  and  all  that  by  any  means  we  might  be 
fortunate  enough  to  extract  from  objects  by  the  way;  in  short,  a 


188  THOMAS    STOTHAUD,    ESQ.,    R.A. 

long  rural  excursion,  that  was  to  be  concluded  by  a  dinner  in  the 
afternoon  at  the  Bull  and  Bush,  one  of  the  quaint  old-fashioned 
Elizabethan  taverns  suggestive  of  Falstaff  and  Dame  Quickly,  for 
which  the  place  is  famous.  We  were  very  happy  as  with  light  hearts 
and  smiling  faces  we  gaily  set  out  on  our  ramble,  every  step  we  took 
seeming  to  make  more  fresh  and  fragrant  the  quiet  fields  and  green 
hedgerows  by  which,  to  our  great  satisfaction,  we  were  soon  surrounded. 

Here  Mr.  Stothard  began  to  look  around  with  interest.  Note 
book  in  hand,  he  wandered  up  and  down,  while  the  rest  of  the 
party  loitered  at  pleasure,  each  as  the  humour  prompted,  with  much 
the  same  careless  sense  of  freedom  as  gipsies  may  be  supposed  to 
enjoy  on  a  sweet  summer's  morning.  When  tired  of  thus  idly 
straying,  more  compact  order  would  for  a  while  be  observed,  our 
venerable  guest  marching  onwards  with  great  strides  as  if  for  a 
wager,  enlivening  the  way  with  anecdotes  of  his  sketching  tours, 
full  of  those  racy  incidents  which  artist  life  in  its  oddly  mixed 
materials  so  liberally  supplies.  France,  England,  Scotland,  and 
Wales  all  furnished  him  remembrances  vividly  related.  Nor  did 
the  scenes  through  which  we  were  then  rambling  fail  to  supply 
their  quota;  for  in  the  landscapes  of  England  every  inch  is  storied 
ground,  and  few  the  places  in  her  sea-girt  isle  which  some  proud 
name  has  not  rendered  famous.  Thus  did  we  wander,  often  sitting 
down  under  hedges  or  old  trees,  botanizing,  flower-gathering,  and 
conversing  in  total  forgetfulness  of  all  mundane  matters  save  those 
belonging  to  Mr.  StotharcTs  birthday,  until,  after  a  prolonged  and 
delightful  ramble,  we  arrived  at  the  place  of  our  destination,  the 
curious  old  tavern. 

It  stood  amidst  an  old-fashioned  garden,  between  two  great  chest 
nut  trees  of  enormous  growth.  Planted,  probably,  hundreds  of 
years  ago,  when  the  house  was  first  built,  they  had  grown  to  twice 
its  height,  and  stood  with  their  giant  arms  woven  about  it  like  two 
strong  sons  protecting  a  parent  in  old  age. 

Entering  the  house  through  a  porch,  we  found  all  within  simple 
and  primitive.  No  modern  improvements  had  displaced  the  inter 
nal  arrangements  of  the  old  Homestead  ;  a  dimly  lighted  corridor, 


THOMAS    STOTIIA11D,    ESQ.,    R.A.  189 

whoso  floor  creaked  with  every  tread,  gave  entrance  to  several  small 
wainscoted  rooms,  furnished  with  corner-cupboards  and  narrow  high- 
backed  chairs,  while  the  old  dining  parlour  appropriated  to  our  use, 
though  equally  ill  lighted,  gave  an  opportunity  from  its  windowkof 
overlooking  the  garden,  which  was  well  worth  beholding,  being  a 
wilderness  of  fruits,  flowers  and  herbs,  all  growing  together  in  the 
greatest  luxuriance,  and  sending  up  the  most  delicious  fragrance. 
But  what,  to  people  rather  tired  and  very  hungry  was  fragrance  such 
as  this,  to  the  unmistakeable  perfume  of  roast-beef  and  plum-pudding, 
which  presently  found  its  way  through  every  nook  and  cranny  of  the 
building,  telling  us  as  plainly  as  words  could  have  done  that  dinner 
smoked  upon  the  board?  Duly  following  this  charming  announce 
ment,  we  soon  found  ourselves  seated  at  dinner  in  the  old  Shake- 
sperian  parlour,  where,  if  stout  varlets  in  doublets  and  hose  had 
greeted  us  with  the  information  that  Mistress  Ford  and  Mistress  Page 
would  take  with  us  a  cup  of  malvoisie  and  a  piece  of  march-pane  it 
would  have  seemed  perfectly  in  unison  with  everything  around. 
Even  as  it  was,  though  lacking  the  bodily  presence  of  those  merry 
wives,  we  caught  their  jocund  spirit,  mirthfully  enjoyed  our  dinner, 
and  drank  to  each  other  out  of  little  old  Flemish  wine-glasses  not 
much  bigger  than  thimbles,  with  white  spiral  threads  running  up 
through  their  slender  stalks.  When  the  dessert  was  placed  upon  the 
table,  somebody  made  a  choice  little  speech  in  honour  of  the  occa 
sion,  at  whose  conclusion  I  placed  upon  the  silvery  hair  of  our  vene 
rable  guest  a  wreath  of  the  real  Alexandrian  laurel,  which  one  of  his 
greatest  admirers,  Mr.  William  Loddiges  of  Hackney,  had  provided,  a 
Greek  couplet  being  attached  to  it  which  he,  being  a  man  of  learning 
as  well  as  a  worshipper  of  art,  had  delighted  to  furnish.  As  I  placed 
the  wreath  upon  Mr.  Stothard's  head,  the  colour  rose  to  his  temples, 
and  his  voice  trembled  a  little  as  he  said,  that  while  appreciating  the 
act,  the  honour  of  a  wreath  was  too  much  for  him,  at  least,  to  wear  ; 
but  he  would,  with  our  permission,  have  it  laid  aside  and  preserved 
as  a  memento  of  that  pleasant  day.  After  our  little  festival  was 
over,  we  returned  home  in  the  cool  of  the  evening.  Miss  Stothard, 
taking  care  of  her  father's  wreath,  which  many  years  afterwards  I 
saw  hanging  over  a  picture  in  his  studio. 


TO    HENRY    GRINNELL,    ESQ. 


HO  feels  not  grateful  on  the  sterile  plain 

To  find  the  fountain  or  the  spreading  tree? 

'    Such,  oh  Illustrious  !  in  this  world  of  pain 

The  emblems  heaven  and  earth  award  to  thee: 


IT. 

Whose  name  the  storm-beat  mariner  can  cheer, 
In  frozen  realms  beneath  the  icebergs1  breath  ; 
Warming  his  heart  'midst  desolation  drear, 
With  thoughts  that  nerve  his  heart  and  con 
quer  Death. 


'Tis  heard  in  crowded  marts,  and  prison  cells, 
A  sound  of  mercy  o'er  the  sweeping  sea, 


TO    IIENUY    GRINNELL,    ESQ. 

That  fostering  aid  to  Ail  and  Science  tells, 
Hope  to  Despair,  and  world-wide  CHAUITY. 


11)1 


IV. 

The  noble  Lady*  in  her  lonely  bower, 
Mourning  her  hero  in  his  frozen  grave, 

Turns  at  its  sound  and  with  her  heart's  full  power, 
Wafts  prayers  and  blessings  o'er  the  distant  wave. 

*  L:uly  Franklin. 


192  TO    HEN  BY    GR1NNELL,    ESQ. 

V. 

Blest  with  the  power  to  succour  and  to  save, 
It  forms  in  many  a  land  a  household  vvoru  ; 

Kindred  with  all  that's  generous,  good,  and  brave, 
Revering  uttered,  and  admiring  heard. 

VI. 

O !  glorious  name,  that  ever  onward  hies, 
Dispensing;  light  to  those  in  darkness  hurled, 

And  gives  Columbia's  flag  where'er  it  flies, 
Another  claim  to  homage  from  the  world. 


HENRY    FUSELI,     ESQ.,    R.A. 

RITIC  and  connoisseur  have  awarded  the  ex 
tremes  of  praise  and  censure  to  the  works  of 
the  late  Henry  Fuseli,  E.A.,  who  holding  botli 
at  arms'  length,  pursued  his  own  devious  way, 
and  won  what  most  lie  thirsted  for — a  great 
name.  Outvieing  every  artist  of  his  time,  in  the 
daring  wildness  of  his  conceptions,  as  well  as 
the  extent  of  his  classical  attainments,  he  holds 
a  distinguished  place  alike  in  the  ranks  of  art  and  literature. 

Striking  and  original  as  his  own  works,  were  also  his  manners  per- 

25 


194:  HENRY    FUSELI,    ESQ.,    E.A. 

sonal  appearance,  and  character.  On  his  minute  and  slender  body  was 
set  the  head  of  a  Jupiter.  Thick  masses  of  white  hair  curled  around 
his  forehead,  while  beneath  overhanging  eyebrows  of  the  same  snowy 
hue,  his  large  light  blue  eyes  shot  forth  their  piercing  glances  ;  and 
with  his  pale  and  aquiline  cast  of  features,  completed  a  physiognomy 
to  which  the  expression  of  all  the  most  sublime  and  stormy  passions 
was  most  familiar. 

Born  in  1741  of  an  ancient  family,  in  the  city  of  Zurich,  in  Switzer 
land,  where  his  father  John  Caspar  Fuessli  was  a  painter  of  celebrity, 
as  likewise  a  man  of  great  literary  acquirements,  Fuseli  was  from  a 
very  early  age,  educated  for  the  church,  and  in  1761  entered  into 
holy  orders,  but  his  passion  for  literature  and  the  arts  hurried  him 
impetuously  beyond  the  peaceful  goal  assigned  him,  and  with  the  cele 
brated  Lavater  for  his  bosom  friend,  Bodmer  for  his  preceptor, 
Breitinger,  the  venerable  friend  of  his  father,  for  his  adviser,  and 
Uisten,  Tomm,  Jacob  and  Felix  Hess,  for  associates  and  fellow-stu 
dents,  he  prosecuted  his  studies  with  an  ardour  that  soon  distanced 
all  competitors  ;  amassing  in  his  youth  those  stores  of  erudition  and 
profound  classical  knowledge  which  enabled  him  to  wield  alike  the 
pencil  and  the  pen,  with  such  resistless  effect  in  subjects  derived  from 
mythic  and  heroic  lore.  In  his  early  career,  liberty,  friendship,  love, 
vied  in  the  bosom  of  Fuseli  for  that  supremacy  which  Art  afterwards 
so  despotically  maintained.  Leaving  the  romance  of  life  behind  him 
in  Switzerland,  he  came  to  London  in  the  year  1763,  a  foreigner  and 
a  stranger,  anxious  to  turn  his  talents  to  account,  and  firmly  resolved 
to  conquer  all  difficulties,  and  achieve  for  himself  fame  and  fortune. 
For  many  years  he  remained  engaged  chiefly  in  making  translations 
and  designs  for  booksellers ;  he  afterwards  went  to  Rome,  where  he 
resided  for  a  considerable  period,  zealously  studying  the  fine  arts. 
From  this  place  he  wrote  the  following  letter,  which  is  eminently 
characteristic,  and  displays  in  a  striking  manner  his  general  style 
of  thought,  and  caustic  mode  of  expression : 

"ROME,  March  17th,  1775. 

"  Thanks  for  the  books,  and  have  in  return  a  little  prattle.     I  knew 


HENRY    FUSELI,    ESQ.,    R.A.  195 

the  best  of  Klopstock  already,  when  lie  was  less  artificial  than  he  now 
is,  and  I  admire  in  him  as  much  as  the  connoisseurs  of  all  ages  and 
all  feeling  hearts  will  admire.  But  his  cloudiness  and  sublime  senti 
mentality  I  cannot  away  with.  It  is  images,  pictures,  substantial 
imaginative  creations  that  we  find  in  Homer ;  and  these  pictures 
make  the  poet.  You — you  German  and  Swiss  I  mean — may  despise 
them  if  you  will,  Homer,  and  the  song  of  Deborah^  and  the  book  of 
Job  :  these  give  a  staple  habitation  and  a  living  root  to  feeling.  An 
effusion  of  true  individual  feeling  incorporated  in  a  living  picture 
strikes  all  hearts  through  all  ages ;  while  a  false  and  local  and  indi 
vidual  feeling  pleases  only  a  few,  at  a  particular  time  and  place,  and 
confounds  everyone  else.  What  a  nameless  difference  is  there 
between  the  truth  and  energy  of  feeling  in  Sappho's  pwerai  and  the 
milky  confusion  and  ecstatic  dreaminess  that  characterize  your 
feigned  longings  for  Cidli. 

"  Thefacultas  lacrymatoria,  the  beauty  plaster  of  German  poetry 
from  Klopstock  down  to  Duscli ;  the  telescopic  ey es,  unnameable  looks 
and  the  whole  theological  hermaphroditism,  are  more  perishable  rags 
than  the  paper  on  which  they  are  printed.  Feel  these  ecstasies  if 
you  please ;  I,  too,  had  my  own  experiences  of  this  kind  of  nonsense 
when  I  was  a  boy ;  but  it  is  the  height  of  egotistical  impudence  to 
drum  it  up  before  me;  and  though  it  should  make  the  staple  of  your 
sacred  epos  and  your  holy  liturgy,  I  have  no  mercy  with  it,  but  say, 
with  Goz  Von  Berlichingen,  <  I  have  all  possible  respect  for  the  dig 
nity  of  religion,  but  as  to  you,  Sir  Captain,  and  your  hurdy-gurdy 
,  solemnitier  you  may— and  here,  Sir,  is  the  way  to  "the  door.' 

"  As  to  Klopstock's  patriotic  poetry,  I  except '  Herman  and  Thus- 
nelda  '  and  <  The  Two  Muses ;'  and  to  the  rest  I  say,  Go  to  the  Devil  ;  I 
might  as  soon  explain  the  Talmud  to  a  Jewish  synagogue  as  bring 
any  intelligible  shape  out  of  these.  To  distil  away  such  a  talent  as 
Klopstock  undoubtedly  has,  after  this  fashion,  is  too  bad.  Lycophron 
a  prophet  by  profession,  and  a  Greek,  is  clearer  than  this  riddle  of 
Bnrdism. 

"What  Klopstock  writes  in  these  flights  of  solemn  exaltation  is  not 
language  ;  it  is  sand,  full  of  bones  and  wrecks  upon  the  sea-shore 


196  HENRY    FUSELI,    ESQ.,    E.A. 

which  the  first  Hood  will  wash  away.  As  for  the  '  Messiah,'  the  ten 
first  books  are  the  song  of  a  swan,  the  ten  last,  a  crow-concert. 
4  Chriemhilde's  Revenge  '  is  far  above  the  c  Messiah  ;'  it  is  the  first 
of  all  national  German  poems.  The  contempt  that  I  have  for  Klop- 
stock's  opinion  of  German  painting  is  only  equalled  by  the  arrogance 
with  which  he  speaks  of  the  English.  His  ignorance  of  their  poetry 
is  ridiculous,  and  as  to  his  eternal  '  Fatherland,'  '  Freedom,'  '  Citizen,' 
and  so  forth — if  he  were  only  a  Swiss — but  where  is  the  Fatherland 
of  a  German  ? 

"  Is  it  in  Suabia,  Brandenburg,  Austria,  Saxony  ?  Is  it  in  the 
marshes  that  swallowed  up  Varus  and  his  legions  ?  Did  Rome  ever 
lose  a  battle  when  it  fought  on  good  solid  ground,  and  on  equal 
terms  ?  What  then  does  this  Ode-building  about  Hermann  and 
Yelleda  come  to  ?  A  Frenchman  (curse  him)  has  more  right  to 
'  fatherlandize '  than  any  miserable  Quedlinburger  or  Osnabrucker,  or 
any  other  blown-up  frogs  that  creep  about  between  the  Danube  and 
the  Baltic.  A  slave — what  has  he  to  boast  of?  his  master's  liberty? 
And  which  master  ?  The  first,  the  second,  or  the  third  ?  4  Freedom  !' 
God !  freedom  from  the  flatterers  of  Christina  ?  And  then,  as  to 
his  Anglomania,  the  English  do  not  boast  to  have  produced  a  single 
poet  in  the  present  century  except,  perhaps,  Richardson — Thomson's 
tame  catalogue  which  you  have  so  often  translated,  Young's  pyra 
mids  of  dough,  Pope's  cadenced  and  rhymed  prose — these  they  do 
not  dignify  with  the  name  of  poetry,  any  more  than  the  sweet  tears 
and  confections  of  Wieland  and  Gesner  deserve  that  name.  This  is 
all  I  have  to  say  on  this  theme,  and  may  Heaven  help  you  to  some- 
thing  better.  You  mention  to  me  a  host  of  painters,  and  crayon 
men  that  I  know  nothing  about.  Give  me  your  thoughts  on  sensible 
themes.  Greet  Bodmer  and  love  me.  P.  S.  Tres  celebre  before  the 
painter  you  must  leave  out.  That  is  German  foolery." 

In  1779  Fuseli,  having,  whilst  in  Italy,  changed  his  name  from 
Fuessli  to  Fuseli,  as  being  more  accordant  to  Italian  pronunciation, 
returned  from  Rome  to  London,  with  the  intention  of  making  it  his 
permanent  abode.  Commencing  his  career  as  a  professional  artist  he, 
to  use  his  own  remark  concerning  Michael  Angelo,  "  Like  an  Orien- 


HENRY    FUSELI,    ESQ.,    R.A.  197 

tal_sun  burst  upon  us  at  once  without  a  dawn."  The  sublime  con 
ception,  bold  fancy,  and  ominous  tints  and  tones  in  which  his  daring 
pencil  arrayed  the  wild  and  tragic  forms  which  filled  his  canvas  all 
wore  the  stamp  of  originality,  and  at  once  constituted  him  the 
founder  of  a  new  style  of  art,  in  which  character  he  at  once 
found  himself  plunged  into  all  the  vicissitudes,  mental  turmoils  and 
struggles  of  artist  life.  The  noblest  subjects  of  ^Eschylus  and 
Homer,  of  Dante,  Milton,  and  Shakespeare,  were  his  chosen  themes. 
Fuseli  wrought  with  heart  and  soul ;  and  his  productions  bear  the 
immortal  impress  of  genius.  On  this  point  the  Milton  Gallery  alone 
need  be  adduced ;  its  forty-eight  pictures,  one  grand  and  unique 
monument  of  Fuseli. 

These  pictures,  while  they  brought  the  artist  fame,  the  notice  of 
the  great,  and  honorary  distinctions  of  all  kinds,  were  received  by  the 
public  at  large  with  the  same  lack  of  appreciation  which  had  suf 
fered  Milton  to  live  neglected  and  die  unnoticed.  At  the  close  of 
the  exhibition  in  1800,  they  remained  on  the  walls  unsold.  "  I  am 
fed  with  honour  and  suffered  to  starve,"  exclaimed  Fuseli  bitterly; 
"  that  is,"  added  he,  in  his  usual  sarcastic  manner,  "  if  they  could 
starve  me."  But  the  gifted  few  were  keenly  alive  to  his  merits,  and 
Fuseli,  amidst  the  proud  regrets  and  devouring  anxieties  with  which 
he  beheld  the  apathy  of  the  public  to  works  which  had  cost  him 
years  of  thought,  toil  and  privation,  was  more  than  compensated  by 
the  avidity  with  which  they  were  afterwards  purchased  by  those  of 
the  nobility  and  connoisseurs  in  art,  whose  judgment  and  taste  he  held 
in  most  estimation.  Chief  amongst  these  were  John  Julius  An- 
gerstein,  Thomas  Coutts,  and  Earl  Rivers,  at  whose  mansion  at  Strath- 
fieldsaye,  now  the  Duke  of  Wellington's,  some  of  Fuseli's  finest  pic 
tures  may  still  be  seen. 

In  1801  he  delivered  three  lectures  on  painting,  at  the  Royal 
Academy ;  they  were  received  with  enthusiasm,  and  published  in 
many  languages.  He  was  the  idol  of  the  students,  who  thronged  the 
academy  in  crowds  on  the  nights  appointed  for  him  to  address  them. 
No  lecturer  ever  had  more  charms  for  that  impulsive  class  than  him 
self.  His  profound  knowledge  of  ancient  art,  his  great  learning,  the 


198  HENRY    FUSELI,    ESQ.,    E.A. 

vast  mental  resources  lie  brought  forward  to  support  and  embellish 
his  subject,  commanded  their  respect  and  admiration;  while  his 
burning  eloquence,  occasional  eccentricities,  and  bursts  of  derisive 
or  enthusiastic  expletives,  delivered  with  strong  foreign  accent,  em 
phasis,  and  action,  won  their  love  and  amused  their  wild  imaginations. 
Now  thundering  forth  their  applause  at  some  thought  of  consummate 
beauty  or  grandeur — anon  roaring  with  laughter  as  the  keen  shafts 
of  ridicule  flew  right  and  left,  often  hitting  the  laughers  themselves. 
Nothing  could  equal  the  severity  of  his  criticisms  but  the  merciless 
manner  in  which  he  delivered  them  ;  keen  and  gliding  as  a  surgeon's 
scalpel  they  went  to  the  very  bone.  The  well  pleased  student  who, 
perchance,  would  think  he  had  done  well  in  a  figure  of  Diana,  or 
Venus,  would,  after  a  moment's  absence  from  his  easel,  be  horrified 
on  his  return,  to  see  his  delicate  drawing  defaced  with  the  sharp 
comment  of  the  Professor's  thumb-nail  cut  into  the  paper,  or  wholly 
obliterated  by  a  great  coarse  black  pencil-mark,  whose  bold  indents 
and  sweeping  curves  proclaimed  at  once  who  had  done  the  mischief  ; 
wThile  harshly  grating  on  his  ear,  a  well  known  foreign  voice  in  its 
most  provoking  tones  would  croak,  "  You  had  made  the  goddess  with 
dog's  legs!  the  sister  of  Apollo  with  dog's  legs!"  this  being  the 
term  always  used  by  him  to  express  his  hatred  of  thin  ankles. 

Of  a  disposition  most  fierce  and  intractable,  in  anger  he  was  as  a 
lion  roused,  yet  capable  of  deep  and  generous  attachment ;  full  of  high 
thoughts  and  ardent  qualities,  all  turned  in  one  direction — the  culti 
vation  of  art.  No  ancient  Greek  more  thoroughly  idolatrous  of  the 
sublime  and  unattainable  Ideal  than  Fuseli.  The  esteem  and  admira 
tion  in  which  he  was  held  by  the  students  of  the  Royal  Academy  were 
evinced  by  the  tribute  of  a  beautiful  silver  vase,  presented  him  in 
their  names,  by  Mr.  Haydon,  then  a  student.  The  vase  was  after  a 
design  by  Flaxman  and  bore  the  simple  inscription — 

To  Henry  Fufeli,  Efq.,  R.A, 

from  the 

Stude  nts, 

1807. 


HENRY    FUSELI,    ESQ.,    E.A.  199 

The  eccentricities  of  Fuseli,  his  fearless  audacity  of  expression,  and 
slow,  solemn  utterance,  which  gave  to  the  simplest  phrase  the  pomp  of 
Eoman  oration,  no  less  than  the  brilliancy  of  his  wit  and  genius,  made 
him  adored  by  the  younger  members  of  the  profession,  not  a  few  of 
whom  loved  to  provoke  his  ire  merely  for  the  pleasure  of  hearing  him 
"  storm,"  as  they  called  it.  The  following  anecdote,  related  to  us  by 
Mr.  Charles  Warren,  the  engraver,  will,  however,  show  that  he  was 
not  always  in  the  "  Ercles  vein." 

Mr.  Warren  having  to  execute  a  plate  from  a  drawing  by  Fuseli, 
of  Lady  Macbeth  walking  in  her  sleep,  was  extremely  puzzled  to 
find  out  what  Fuseli  had  intended  to  represent  by  two  extraordinary 
projectiles  placed  a  little  above  her  forehead.  Being  totally  unlike 
anything  he  had  ever  seen  on  a  female  head,  he  concluded  they  must 
be  symbols  designed  by  the  imaginative  Fuseli,  to  express  in  some 
way  or  other,  her  savage  character  or  night -walking  propensities. 
Under  this  impression,  he  ran  over  in  his  mind  all  the  things  he  could 
think  of  as  being  likely  to  denote  suitable  emblems  for  so  wicked  a 
woman,  but  in  vain.  None  of  them  resembled  the  unique  inventions 
on  the  head  of  Lady  Macbeth.  At  length  clapping  his  hand  to  his 
forehead,  "  By  Jove,"  said  he,  "  I  have  it !  how  could  1  be  so  stupid  as 
not  to  think  of  it  before  ?  Wings !  of  course  they  are — bat's- wings 
—flying  by  night — blood  suckers  too — just  as  she  is.  How  lucky  I 
hit  upon  it."  Thus  congratulating  himself,  he  set  to  work,  engraved 
the  plate,  and  took  the  proof  impression  to  Fuseli,  who  considered  it 
attentively.  "  What's  that  f"  said  he,  pointing  to  the  Lady's  fore 
head.  "  Wings,  sir ;  you  meant  them  for  wings,  did  you  not  ?" 
"  Not  I,"  replied  Fuseli ;  "  I  meant  nothing  but  her  night-cap." 
"  Oh  dear,  sir,"  rejoined  Warren,  "  I  really  am  very  sorry  ;  I  quite 
thought  you  intended  them  for  wings,  but  I  will  alter  the  plate  im 
mediately,  the  error  can  easily  be  rectified."  "  No,  never  mind,  let 
them  stand,"  said  Fuseli ;  "  I  think  they  will  do  very  well."  The 
plate  was  accordingly  so  published,  with  wings  standing  out  from 
Lady  Macbeth's  temples. 

As  keeper  of  the  Royal  Academy,  Mr.  Fuseli  occupied  apart 
ments  in  Somerset  House  ;  his  sitting-room  being  a  spacious  apart- 


200  HENRY    FUSELI,    ESQ.,    R.A. 

ment,  furnished  in  the  simplest  manner.  Here  might  generally  be 
found  Mrs.  Fuseli,  a  stout,  rosy  faced,  and  smiling  elderly  lady,  who 
in  her  youth  had  won  Mr.  Fuseli's  heart  by  her  exquisite  symmetry 
of  form,  which,  in  its  contour,  had  all  the  fulness  and  perfection  of 
the  antique. 

In  the  year  1788,  he  married  her,  attracted  not  less  by  her  fine 
person,  than  the  frankness  and  amiability  of  her  disposition.  It  was 
a  happy  choice  for  himself,  for  she  possessed  no  accomplishments 
save  domestic  ones,  no  love  for  literature  save  such  as  claimed  her 
spouse  for  its  author,  and  not  a  wish  beyond  that  of  making  him  hap 
py  ;  wrhilst  he  repaid  her  with  his  whole  heart,  and,  in  addition,  all  his 
wayward  ways.  When  I  knew  her,  the  charms  which  had  distin 
guished  her  in  youth  were  no  longer  visible,  for  she  was  then  grow 
ing  old,  but  wTith  a  great  flow  of  spirits,  a  jocose  manner,  and  an 
infinite  fund  of  pleasant  conversation,  which  made  her  society  very 
enlivening  and  agreeable,  and  formed  a  great  contrast  to  that  of  her 
husband,  who  delighting  to  astonish,  alarm,  or  pique,  generally  suc 
ceeded  to  a  miracle.  To  the  fearful  and  timid  he  Avas  a  terror- 
striking  creature,  profuse  of  taunt,  and  by  no  means  choice  in 
language,  indulging  sometimes  in  a  torrent  of  invective,  that  with  a 
sudden  change  would  all  at  once  turn  into  the  mildest  mood  imagi 
nable.  Finding  his  wife  one  day  in  great  agitation  owing  to  the  mis 
conduct  of  her  servants,  he  said,  "  why  don't  you  swear  at  them,  my 
dear,  and  ease  your  mind  ?"  At  the  time  Sir  Humphrey  Davy  mar 
ried  the  handsome  and  wealthy  Mrs.  Apreece,  I  asked  Mr.  Fuseli 
what  could  induce  a  lady  of  her  fortune  and  appearance  to  give  her 
hand  to  a  mere  learned  philosopher  like  Sir  Humphrey  ?  "  Oh,"  said 
he,  "  he  had  pouting  lips,  and  bamboozled  her  with  metaphysics." 
Mrs.  Fuseli  had  an  old  female  servant  called  Elizabeth,  whose  face 
and  figure  might  be  recognised  in  a  hundred  horrible  and  supernatural 
scenes  in  her  master's  studio,  she  being  the  very  impersonation  of 
one  of  the  "  Weird  Sisters."  One  evening  having  taken  tea  with  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Fuseli,  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence  came  down  from  the  council 
and  seated  himself  on  the  sofa  beside  Mrs.  Fuseli,  glancing  as  he  did 
so  at  the  empty  table  from  wThich  the  tea- apparatus  had  just  been 


HENRY    FUSELI,    ESQ.,    E.A.  201 

removed.  Mr.  Fuseli  caught  the  glance.  "  Will  you  take  some  tea  ?" 
said  he  in  his  strong  foreign  accent.  "  No,  thank  you,"  said  Sir  Thomas 
rather  un decisively.  "  That  means  you  would  take  it  if  you  could 
get  it,"  replied  Fuseli,  who  immediately  rang  the  bell;  and,  as  Eliza 
beth  entered,  said,  in  a  low  voice,  in  order  that  Sir  Thomas  should  not 
hear:  "Bring  some  tea."  "I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  she,  coming 
a  little  nearer;  "what  did  you  please  to  say?"  He  repeated  the  order 
in  a  lower  tone;  but  at  the  moment  Sir  Thomas  and  Mrs.  Fuseli  burst 
into  a  laugh  at  something  they  were  talking  about,  which  prevented 
the  servant  from  hearing,  and  obliged  her  to  ask  again  for  the  third 
time;  which  so  enraged  Fuseli  that,  losing  all  command  of  himself, 
he  exclaimed  in  a  voice  of  thunder,  "  Some  TEA  !  G —  d —  vou !"  to  the 
perfect  astonishment  of  his  wife  and  friend,  who  having  heard  nothing 
of  the  preceding  colloquy,  sat  perfectly  transfixed,  not  being  able  to 
imagine  what  had  caused  such  an  outbreak.  Elizabeth  vanished  like 
an  electric  flash,  and  the  tea  was  placed  on  the  table  with  magical 
celerity.  Yet  with  all  this  irascibility  he  could  at  times  be  very  kind. 
Mrs.  Fuseli  told  me  that  one  day,  on  returning  home  from  a  walk,  she 
found  him  sitting  in  one  of  the  window  seats,  engaged  in  the  most 
serious  conversation  with  a  little  girl  of  four  years  old  who  was  in  the 
habit  of  visiting  her.  Softly  advancing  upon  them,  without  being 
perceived,  she  heard  Mr.  Fuseli  say,  in  a  sententious  tone,  "  Oh,  I 
think  the  broader  the  better."  "  What  are  you  two  talkino-  about 

•/  ^ 

with  your  heads  both  together?"  said  she.  "  Oh,"  replied  Mr.  Fuseli, 
loftily,  "  Minny  is  going  to  ask  her  mother  to  let  her  have  a  black 
velvet  pelisse,  and  we  were  discussing  the  propriety  and  dignity  of 
having  it  trimmed  with  a  broad  black  lace.  Minny  says  '  she  should 
like  it  very  broad  f  and  I  say  '  the  broader  the  better."  These 
tranquil  moods  were,  however,  by  no  means  so  frequent  as  those  of 
a  more  tantalizing  description ;  his  manner  to  children  often  beinw 
like  that  of  Grimalkin  playing  with  a  mouse — amusing  himself  while 
he  tormented  them  intolerably  ;  on  one  occasion  he  met  with  an  un 
expected  retort.  Mrs.  Fuseli  having  no  children  of  her  own,  was 
very  fond  of  having  those  of  her  friends,  and  took  great  pleasure  in 
ministering  to  their  little  caprices  ;  consequently  she  had  no  lack  of 

26 


202  HENRY    FUSELI,    ESQ.,    ll.A. 

their  society.  One  little  fair  creature  of  three  years  old,  of  whom  she 
was  extremely  fond,  had  very  red  hair,  which  peculiarity  Fuseli, 
on  entering  the  room,  instantly  observed,  and  took  advantage  of, 
accompanying  a  saucy  nod  to  the  child  with  "  How  do  you  do,  Car 
rots?"  The  little  girl,  whose  complexion  was  pure  as  a  lily,  blushed 
all  over,  but  at  the  same  time  with  an  eye  that  flashed  like  lightning 
as  it  glanced  on  his  own  snowy-white  locks  exclaimed  quickly,  "  Pret 
ty  well,  thank  you.  Turnips,"  laughing  him  as  it  were  to  scorn,  and 
pointing  her  tiny  finger  at  him.  Mr.  Fuseli  was  enchanted  with  this 
display  of  spirit,  and  would  willingly  have  made  her  his  play -fellow, 
but  the  little  thing  felt  the  insult  he  had  offered  her  too  keenly. 
One  evening  when  Mrs.  Fuseli,  with  one  or  two  friends,  were  playing 
at  cards,  Mr.  Fuseli,  according  to  his  invariable  custom,  sat  reading. 
His  book  wras  a  large  old  folio  which  he  held  in  his  arms  before  him, 
deeply  absorbed  and  apparently  unconscious  of  the  noise  we  were 
making.  During  one  of  the  intervals  of  the  game,  Mrs.  Fuseli,  fixing 
her  eyes  on  her  husband,  said  in  her  quick,  bustling  manner :  "What 
book  is  that  you  are  reading,  Harry  ?"  "  It  is  not  a  book  that  could 
interest  you,  my  love,"  said  he,  in  his  slow,  peculiar  manner,  without 
looking  up.  "  Well,  well,  but  you  can  tell  me  its  name?"  "Well, 
then,  my  love,  if  you  must  know,  it  is  Plinius."  "  Ah,  that's  enough— 
that'll  do,"  cried  she.  "  I  told  you  you  would  not  care  about  it," 
rejoined  he,  in  his  long,  drawn-out  tones,  whose  solemn  cadence  formed 
the  most  ludicrous  contrast  to  the  quick,  petulant  ones  in  which  Mrs. 
Fuseli  had  prevented  him  from  saying  any  more  about  Plinius.  In 
one  of  the  long  summer  days  I  passed  with  Mrs.  Fuseli,  she  told  me 
that  when  a  child  she  was  a  perfect  "  imp"  the  most  wilful,  unma 
nageable  little  creature  that  ever  was,  and  that  once  being  attacked  by 
a  violent  fever  she  utterly  refused  to  take  any  medicines,  or  to  lie  on 
any  bed  in  the  house,  insisting  on  being  allowed  to  sleep  in  an  old 
carved  chest  called  the  "  cofre  ;"  this  being  done  she  desired  them  to 
shut  her  up  and  go  away.  This  point,  after  much  remonstrance,  was 
also  yielded,  and  she  then  dropped  asleep,  and  on  her  waking  was  so 
much  better  as  to  be  considered  out  of  danger.  "But,"  added  she 
laughing,  "  the  old  spirit  remained  still.  Before  I  married  Mr.  Fuseli 


HENRY    FUSELI,    ESQ.,    li.A.  203 

I  was  a  long  time  before  I  could  make  up  my  mind,  and  he  used  fre 
quently  to  sit  looking  intently  at  me  without  speaking  for  a  long  time 
together,  which  made  me  feel  very  restless  and  disagreeable ;  so  one 
day  I  said  to  him,  '  What  are  you  staring  at  me  so  for  T  to  which  he 
replied,  with  the  greatest  seriousness,  '  I  am  staring  at  you,  you  little 
thing,  wanting  to  find  out  what  there  is  in  you  that  you  should  give 
yourself  so  many  airs.  You  are  not  handsome  ;  and  I  should  like  to 
know  what  there  is  in  you  that  makes  me  such  a  fool  as  to  love  you.'  '' 
"  And  what  did  you  reply,  dear  Mrs.  Fuseli  ?"  "  Oh,  I  said  to  him 
quite  offended,  i  Pray  don't  trouble  yourself  to  find  out ;  I  don't  want 
your  love,  I  assure  you.'  But,"  added  she  laughing,  "  he  was  deter 
mined  to  marry  me,  and  he  did)  you  see." 

Mrs.  Fuseli  once  told  me  that  the  first  cloud  of  her  married  life 
was  caused  by  the  violent  and  romantic  passion  which  the  beautiful 
and  celebrated  Mary  Wollstonecraft  had  conceived  for  Mr.  Fuseli, 
who  had  then  been  a  married  man  about  two  years.  Repeatedly,  in 
letters  full  of  the  most  passionate  protestations,  did  this  wrong- 
minded  woman  implore  him  to  leave  "that  common-place  creature 
Ms  wife"  and  lead  with  her  "  the  life  of  reason  and  of  love."  u  And 
what  did  he  reply  to  her?"  I  inquired.  "  Oh,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Fuseli 
laughing,  "  he  scarcely  ever  answered  them  at  all ;  he  used  to  show 
all  her  letters  to  me,  that  I  might  not  be  jealous."  "  And  were  you  not 
jealous,  dear  Mrs.  Fuseli?"  I  asked.  "  Certainly  ;  to  be  sure  I  was," 
replied  she  in  her  quick  manner;  "who  could  help  being  jealous? 
such  a  clever  woman  as  that  making  love  openly  to  one's  husband 
was  no  joke — and  then,  she  was  so  daring,  that  I  was  afraid.  She 
actually  had  the  effrontery  to  come  here  one  day  and  tell  me  that 
she  was  come  to  stay  !  but  that  I  need  not  be  alarmed,  for  though 
the  unconquerable  passion  she  felt  for  Mr.  Fuseli  rendered  it  impos 
sible  for  her  to  live  without  seeing  him  continually,  it  was  entirely 
a  sentiment  of  the  soul.  Only  think,"  continued  Mrs.  Fuseli;  "  soul ! 
indeed  ;  I  ordered  her  to  go  away,  and  never  corne  again.  I  hardly 
know  what  I  said."  All  this  was  uttered  in  a  great  hurry,  with  a 
half  comic,  half  angry  excitement,  and  some  smiles  to  herself  as  we 
sat  busied  with  our  needles.  At  this  point  of  the  conversation  Mr. 


204:  IIEXEY    FUSELI,    ESQ.,    R.A. 

Ftiseli  entered,  his  small  chip  hat  perched  on  his  head,  a  great  book 
under  his  arm,  and  his  whole  appearance  betokening  the  exhaustion 
of  study — looking  very  much  like  the  portraits  of  Frederick  of  Prus 
sia,  and  very  different  from  the  agile,  compact,  and  elegant  little  man 
whose  soul  had  once  so  delighted  the  adoring  Mary.  The  heighten 
ed  colour  of  Mrs.  Fuseli  attracted  his  quick  eye  in  a  moment. 
"What  is  the  matter,  Offie,  my  love?"  inquired  he  with  some  anxie 
ty.  "  Oh,  nothing,  nothing,- '  said  she,  hastily.  "  There  must  be," 
said  he ;  "  what  is  it  ?"  "  Well,  then,  I  was  only  mentioning  your 
friend  Mary  Wollstonecraft."  "  Well"  replied  he,  with  provoking 
emphasis  and  mischievous  look,  "  she  was  a  very  clever  woman,  a 
very  nice  woman,  a  very  handsome  woman — and,  she  was  very  fond 
of  me"  "Hen,  Hen,  my  dear  Hen,  how  can  you  talk  such  stuff? 
Pooh!  pooh!"  continued  she  in  the  greatest  flurry,  fanning  herself 
violently.  "  Well,  my  dear,  I  am  only  speaking  the  truth,"  con 
tinued  he ;  "I  have  a  great  many  of  her  letters  now; — everybody 
cannot  write  such."  "Stuff!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Fuseli  indignantly. 
I  ventured  to  remark  these  clever  women  seemed  to  be  able  to  do  as 
they  liked — I  thought  it  must  be  very  pleasant — I  should  like  to  be 
a  clever  woman  myself !  "  Don't  wish  it,"  cried  he,  in  a  changed 
voice,  and  with  earnestness.  "Why  not,  sir?  I  thought  you  just 
now  said  how  much  you  admired  them."  "  Don't  wish  it,"  repeated 
lie  ;  "  /  hate  clever  women;  they  are  only  troublesome — /  hate  clever 
women."  Mrs.  Fuseli  gathered  up  her  fallen  smiles,  and  darted 
them  all  in  one  bright  beam  on  his  little  cynical  countenance. 

In  his  estimate  of  the  sex,  Fuseli  was  not  very  flattering;  sneer 
ing  at  their  pretensions  to  mind,  and  apparently  coinciding  with 
Dante,  who  calls  woman  "  The  animal  of  Beauty."  A  most  absurd 
story  was  propagated  by  some  of  his  enemies,  that  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  eating  a  quantity  of  raw  pork  every  night  before  going 
to  bed,  in  order  to  induce  horrid  dreams — that  being  the  mode, 
it  was  said,  by  which  he  supplied  himself  with  such  wild 
and  fearful  imagery  for  his  pictures.  Nothing  could  be  more 
false  than  this,  for  his  habits  were  abstemious  in  the  extreme. 
His  frugal  suppers,  even  when  with  others  who  were  enjoying 


HENRY    FUSELI,    ESQ.,    R.A.  205 

dainty  fare,  being  invariably  a  crust   of  bread    and  one  glass   of 
port  wine. 

Fuseli  was  very  fond  of  theatrical  representations.  His  opinion 
of  Kean's  acting,  in  the  character  of  Orestes,  is  thus  expressed,  in 
the  rough  draft  of  a  letter,  now  in  my  possession,  addressed  to  the 
Countess  of  Guilford.  It  must,  however,  be  premised,  that  he  did 
ample  justice  to  the  talents  of  Kean  in  other  characters;  his  Shy- 
lock  he  thought  perfect.  "I  have  seen  Kean  and  Mrs.  West  in 
Orestes  and  Hermione,  and  desire  to  see  them  no  more.  What 
could  excite  the  public  rapture  at  his  first  appearance  in  this  part,  I 
am  at  a  loss  to  imagine.  If  his  figure  is  not  utterly  irreconcilable 
with  the  character,  his  action  and  expression  are  balanced  between 
the  declamation  of  Talma,  the  ravings  of  a  bedlamite,  and  sometimes 
the  barking  of  a  dog.  Mrs.  West  is  something  of  a  slender  Grecian 
figure,  tall,  not  ungraceful,  and  a  face  something  like  Mrs.  JVIardyn's. 
She  was  well  dressed,  and  has  a  good  voice,  but  no  rule  of  it,  and 
tore  her  part  to  tatters  in  one  uninterrupted  fit  of  raving." 

A  wholesome/^r  in  the  presence  of  Mr.  Fuseli,  was  ever  min 
gled  in  my  mind  with  wonder  arid  admiration  of  his  genius.  "  IJow 
can  you  be  so  afraid  of  my  dear  Hen  ?"  said  Mrs.  Fuseli  one  clay 
when  we  had  just  seated  ourselves  at  the  dinner  table,  and  were 
waiting  for  his  appearance.  "  He  only  storms  at  times ;  why,  I  have 
seen  him  gentle  as  a  child,  weeping,  while  he  read  of  the  sufferings 
of  Jesus."  She  had  scarcely  ceased  when  he  entered,  alternately 
raising  his  hand  and  then  pressing  it  upon  his  breast,  calling  out  in 
a  dolorous  voice :  "  My  stomach  cries,  '  Eat  no  more  !' '  This 
ghostly  admonition  he  repeated  several  times  with  the  same  action, 
in  deep  sepulchral  tones.  "  Never  mind  what  your  stomach  says, 
lovey,"  replied  Mrs.  Fuseli ;  "  sit  down  and  eat  your  dinner."  After 
eating  a  few  morsels,  and  drinking  a  glass  of  wine,  he  felt  better ;  at 
this  moment  the  old  abigail  placed  a  dish  upon  the  table,  from  which, 
when  the  cover  was  removed,  a  cloud  of  steam  ascended  curling  up 
to  the  ceiling.  Mr.  Fuseli  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  gazing  listlessly 
at  the  vapour,  and  then  peered  curiously  over  the  dish,  where  he 
beheld,  enveloped  in  mist,  four  objects  like  billiard  balls,  on  whose 


9Q(5  HENRY    FUSELI,    ESQ.,    R.A. 

slippery  surfaces  small  black  specks  were  dimly  discernible. 
"  What  beasts  have  you  brought  here  ?"  cried  he  to  the  old  ser 
vant.  "  They  are  spotted  as  with  the  plague !  away  with  them ! 
I'll  none  of  them."  "  Now,  my  love,"  said  Mrs.  Fuseli,  "  don't  be 
hasty ;  I've  made  these  for  you  with  my  own  hands,  haven't  I, 
Elizabeth  ?"  (Elizabeth  dropped  a  curtsy.)  "  You  will  find  them 
delicious,  and  I  am  sure  they  wont  disagree  with  you,  for  there  is 
nothing  in  them  that  can  hurt  you ;  there  is  no  butter,  no  eggs,  no 
sugar,  no  spice,  no  brandy — nothing  but  a  few  currants."  "  So  much 
the  worse  !  so  much  the  worse  !"  growled  he.  "  Come  here  !"  cried 
he,  frowning  awfully  at  the  bewildered  handmaiden.  "  Take  them 
away!  throw  them  to  the  dogs!  I'll  none  of  them."  But  Mrs. 
Fuseli  feeling  herself  bound  to  vindicate  her  culinary  offspring, 
hastily  helped  herself  to  one,  and  me  to  another,  with  an  imploring 
look  to  do  my  best  with  it.  They  were  shocking,  but  we  gravely 
eat  them  up,  pronouncing  them 'excellent.  Mr.  Fuseli,  thinking  he 
had  been  mistaken,  took  a  small  piece,  but  instantly  spat  it  out  with 
an  execrable  grimace  ;  when,  seeing  his  wife  look  really  annoyed,  he 
took  another  very  small  piece,  and  deluging  it  with  wine  and  sugar, 
declared  "  it  was  tolerable,  considering."  lie  then  began  to  soothe 
her  ruffled  feelings  ;  and  she,  who  was  one  of  the  best  creatures  in  the 
world,  swallowed  down  all  his  little  sugar  plums  of  speech,  as  gos 
pel  truths,  smiling  amiably,  and  completely  chasing  away  every 
vestige  of  the  storm. 

On  one  occasion,  when  spending  the  day  with  her,  she  said  : 
"  Come,  let  us  go  and  see  how  affairs  are  going  on  in  the  lower  re 
gions."  Accordingly,  after  beholding  her  tie  up  her  head  in  a  shawl, 
and  tuck  up  her  dress,  as  if  about  to  encounter  the  perils  of  a  journey, 
we  began  our  descent  into  a  series  of  dens  under  ground,  devoted  sole 
ly  to  the  use  of  Mr.  Fuseli.  They  formed  a  long  suite  of  narrow  and 
irregular  apartments,  very  dark,  being  lighted  only  from  little  round 
windows  close  to  the  ceiling,  which  admitted  a  very  imperfect 
light  into  this  subterraneous  abode.  The  awful  picture  of  the  Lazar 
House  was  at  the  very  furthest  end  of  this  dim  gallery,  entirely  cov 
ering  the  wall.  The  pale  and  ghastly  forms,  in  every  variety  of 


HENRY    FUSELI,    ESQ.,    R.A.  2(J7 

human  pain  and  woe,  seeming  actually  real.  The  dark  ground  of 
the  picture,  which  had  no  frame,  being  merged  in  the  dimness  of  the 
place, 

"  Sad,  noisome,  dark,  a  lazar-house  it  seemed,  wherein  were  laid 
Numbers  of  all  diseased,  all  maladies." 

The  side  walls  of  this  cavern-like  gallery  were  completely  covered 
with  paintings,  legendary,  historic,  scriptural ;  all  ages  and  countries 
seemed  to  have  furnished  their  most  tragic  scenes  and  most  renowned 
characters,  invested  with  somewhat  of  the  superhuman,  from  the 
genius  of  Fuseli ;  while  confusedly  piled  in  corners  all  sorts  of  artistic 
lumber  were  visible.  Amidst  this  chaos,  the  white  head  of  Mr. 
Fuseli  might  be  seen  afar  off,  his  figure  robed  in  a  large  flowing 
robe,  looking  like  some  old  magician.  He  had  a  picture  before  him, 
to  which  he  now  and  then  gave  a  few  touches,  at  the  same  time 
speaking  to  some  one  who  appeared  to  be  seated  upon  the  ground, 
but  whom  we  could  not  see  on  account  of  intervening  objects.  As 
Mrs.  Fuseli  advanced,  making  her  cheery  voice  heard  by  the  distant 
group,  t\vo  very  pretty  young  girls  sprang  forward  and  saluted  her ; 
they  wrere  the  sisters  Helen  and  Madeline  Abercromby,  one  of  whom 
had  been  sitting  for  the  portrait  of  Undine.  After  they  made  their 
smiling  adieux,  we  began  what  Mrs.  Fuseli  termed  the  Grand  Tour 
of  the  Picture-land,  and  were  well  rewarded  for  the  trouble. 

Striking  scenes  from  the  Nibelungen  Lied,  from  Milton,  Dante, 
Shakespeare,  and  other  sources  of  the  dire  and  wonderful,  were  visi 
ble  everywhere,  depicted  with  all  that  wild  fury  of  genius  for  which 
Fuseli  was  remarkable  ;  to  some  of  these  the  eye  seemed  to  grow 
fixed  by  a  terrible  fascination  ;  among  these  may  be  named  the  con 
spiracy  of  Catiline,  where  standing  amid  the  darkness  of  a  tomb,  with 
a  lamp  suspended  over  their  heads,  are  the  three  conspirators,  their 
daggers  held  aloft  and  meeting  at  the  points,  pledging  themselves  to 
secresy  in  a  bowl  of  wine  mingled  with  blood.  Next  to  this  was 
Ezzelin  Bracciaferro,  contemplating  the  extended  corse  of  his  dead 
bride  Meduna,  unjustly  slain  by  his  own  hand  on  a  false  suspicion  of 
her  fidelity.  In  line  with  these  was  the  picture  of  Count  Ugolino 


208  HENRY    FUSELI,    ESQ.,    R.A. 

amidst  his  dead  and  dying  children,  as  also  those  wonderful  pictures 
from  Milton  where  every  passion,  from  suhlirnest  horror  to  tenderest 
love,  finds  its  most  intense  expression. 

For  the  contours  of  many  of  his  female  figures  he  was  indebted 
to  the  fine  form  of  Mrs.  Fuseli.  On  asking  her  if  she  did  not  feel 
very  odd  when  walking  about  among  so  many  representations  of 
herself,  all  engaged  in  some  strange  and  often  wicked  manner  ?  she 
replied,  "  Not  at  all ;  it  is  rather  tiresome  to  have  to  sit  or  stand  for 
them  when  in  a  painful  position,  but  nothing  like  so  disagreeable  as 
to  have  one's  limbs  modelled  in  wet  plaster." 

Side  by  side  with  some  of  the  largest  and  best  pictures,  were  excel 
lent  copies  of  them  by  the  Lady  Georgian  a  North,  youngest  daughter 
of  the  Countess  of  Guilford,  and  I  particularly  noticed  one  most 
lovely  original  from  the  same  fair  hand.  It  represented  a  beautiful 
young  girl  in  a  fine  Italian  garden,  whose  surrounding  sky  and  sum 
mer  foliage,  ail  wore  the  most  delicate  and  glowing  hues,  amidst  which 
she  stood,  with  a  large  basket  of  roses  on  her  arm,  and  by  her  side  a 
peacock  in  all  his  pride,  endeavouring  to  peck  flowers  from  the  basket. 
Mr.  Fuseli  always  spoke  of  this  fair  and  noble  pupil  with  something 
of  reverence,  her  character  combining  so  much  of  the  exalted  and 
the  humble  as  to  be  almost  angelic.  Her  mother,  the  Countess  of 
Guilford,  was  an  intimate  friend  as  well  as  a  great  admirer  of  the 
genius  of  Fuseli,  arid  to  her  kindness  and  urbanity  may  be  attributed 
much  of  the  happiness  of  his  latter  days. 

The  infirmities  of  age  making  him  averse  to  great  houses  and 
gay  company,  she  placed  at  the  disposal  of  himself  and  Mrs. 
Fuseli  a  small  cottage  in  the  grounds  of  her  villa  at  Putney,  well 
furnished,  having  suitable  attendants,  and  everything  necessary  for 
their  comfort,  where  they  might  repair  when  they  chose  and  con 
sider  themselves  at  home,  having  nothing  to  do  but  to  amuse  them 
selves  after  their  own  manner,  enjoy  the  good  things  with  which 
they  were  bounteously  supplied,  and  visit  the  adjoining  mansion 
when  they  pleased  ;  the  Countess  and  her  charming  daughters  visit 
ing  them  at  the  cottage  as  guests.  Here,  on  the  16th  April,  1825, 
in  his  eighty-fifth  year,  Fuseli  died,  after  receiving  every  affectionate 


HENEY    FUSELI,    ESQ.,    R.A.  209 

attention  that  suffering  could  need,  or  kindness  bestow.  A  strange 
hallucination  came  over  him  in  his  last  hours;  calling  Mrs.  Fuseli  to 
him,  he  said  very  calmly,  "  My  dear  Offie,  I  wish  you  would  ask 
Lady  Guilford  to  order  some  one  to  take  away  these  musical  boxes 
that  are  set  all  round  the  tester  of  the  bed  ;  the  music  playing  night 
and  day  tires  me.  I  think  I  could  sleep  if  they  were  silenced." 
"  My  poor  Hen !"  said  Mrs.  Fuseli,  with  a  burst  of  weeping,  when 
she  told  me  this.  "  There  were  no  musical  boxes  ;  it  was  only  his 
fancy,  but  after  I  had  soothed  him  a  little,  he  fell  asleep  and  never 
woke  again."  His  remains  were  laid  in  state  at  Somerset  House,  the 
apartment  being  decorated  with  his  most  celebrated  pictures,  an 
act  of  picturesque  and  graceful  homage  peculiarly  appropriate  and 
impressive.  As  an  artist,  Fuseli  ranks  among  those  who  are  styled 
the  Wonderful.  One,  whose  pictures  were  ever  most  successful  when 
the  subject  afforded  full  scope  for  grandeur  and  sublimity.  The  un 
known  regions  of  heaven  and  hell  were  the  favourite  haunts  of  his 
daring  spirit ;  and  the  forms  with  which  he  has  peopled  them,  once 
seen,  are  ever  afterwards  allied  in  the  mind  with  those  mysterious 
abodes.  He  trusted  to  posterity  for  fame,  nor  can  it  be  doubted  that 
the  immortality  he  coveted  will  be  awarded. 

The  portrait  at  the  head  of  this  article  is  a  very  good  likeness  of 
Fuseli.  It  was  drawn  from  a  picture  painted  by  Harlowe,  who  first 
executed  one  for  the  biographer  of  Fuseli,  Mr.  Knowles,  who  promised 
the  loan  of  it  to  be  copied  for  us  by  Harlowe.  Failing  to  fulfil  the 
promise  so  made,  Mr.  Fuseli  was  so  kind  as  to  again  sit  to  Harlowe, 
the  result  being  a  better  portrait  than  the  one  which  had  preceded  it. 


AN    UNKNOWN    ALLEGORY.     (See  Frontispiece.) 

The  Frontispiece  to  this  volume  exhibits  an  unknown  allegory, 
carefully  copied  from  one  of  Marc  Antonio's  finest  engravings, 
after  a  design  by  Francesco  Raibolini,  commonly  called  Francesco 
Francia. 

Its  meaning  has  baffled  the  skill  of  the  learned,  to  whom  it  still 
remains  a  mystery.  Many  solutions  have  been  hazarded  by  various 
distinguished  artists,  but  all  vague  and  unsatisfactory.  Even  the 
erudite  Fuseli,  with  all  his  vast  acquirements,  critical  acumen,  and 
intimate  knowledge  of  old  designs  and  engravings,  said  that  he  "  had 
pondered  upon  the  subject  a  hundred  times,  without  being  able  to 
come  to  any  satisfactory  conclusion." 

Though  composed  of  forms  scripturally  familiar,  it  yet  remains  a 
complete  enigma,  and  as  such,  is  presented  as  a  theme  for  curiosity 
and  research,  to  those  who  have  a  love  for  such  pursuits. 

Like  all  the  works  of  Francesco  Francia,  this  composition  is  dis 
tinguished  for  extreme  simplicity,  energy,  and  grace.  The  moment 
of  action,  which  by  him  was  always  dramatically  conceived,  and 
powerfully  developed,  is  here  strikingly  rendered  ;  and  it  is  not  a 
little  extraordinary  that  the  subject  of  this  composition,  the  work  of 
such  a  master,  perpetuated  by  the  skill  of  Marc  Antonio,  the  most 
celebrated  engraver  of  the  age  in  which  he  lived,  should  now  be 
utterly  unknown  ;  more  particularly  as  it  was  one  on  \vhich  the  latter 
must  have  expended  considerable  time  and  labour,  it  being,  in  truth, 
one  of  his  finest  engravings. 

The  pictures  of  Francia,  besides  the  excellences  already  enume 
rated,  were  also  usually  embellished  with  carefully  executed  back 
grounds,  a  perfection  which  is  but  slightly  indicated  in  the  present 
engraving :  this,  however,  is  the  less  to  be  regretted,  since  the  main 
points  have  been  so  admirably  preserved. 

The  following  ingenious  surmise  on  the  meaning  of  the  subject 


AN    UNKNOWN    ALLEGORY.  211 

has  been  made  by  an  amateur  friend,  whose  cultivated  mind  and 
artistic  taste  render  him  no  slight  authority  on  all  matters  connected 
with  art  and  artists.  He  thinks  it  probable  that  "  the  sitting  figure 
is  probably  meant  for  Cain,  who,  in  his  melancholy  wanderings,  after 
his  great  sin,  is  tempted  by  new  evil,  symbolized  by  the  parley 
with  the  Tempter  under  the  old  form,  as  he  appeared  in  the  garden. 
(God,  perhaps,  graciously  permitting  him  to  be  thus  placed  upon  his 
guard,  for  he  must  well  know  by  whose  means  his  mother  fell  from 
her  happy  estate.)  A  fellow-man,  younger,  and  of  the  next  genera 
tion — for  thirty  years  in  those  days  would  but  make  slight  difference  in 
looks — who  has  perhaps  sympathized  with  Cain's  wretchedness,  see 
ing  him  thus  dangerously  occupied,  mVs  from  the  temptation  ;  but  the 
woman,  either  more  curious  or  more  sympathizing,  remains.  The 
musical  instrument  she  holds,  may  have  been  used  as  an  appliance  in 
alleviating  his  misery.  The  presence  of  the  serpent  shows  that  the 
scene,  in  point  of  time,  cannot  be  far  removed  from  Eden." 

A  learned  divine  suggests  that  it  may  probably  be  some  legend 
of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church. 


ETRUSCAN    VASE. 

HIS  beautiful  vase,  elegant  in  form 
and  elaborately  adorned  with  fig 
ures  and  ornaments,  which  forms 
the  subject  of  the  accompanying 
engraving,  is  one  of  those  exquisite 
funereal  vases  which  still  remain 
memorials  of  the  reverence  with 
which  the  ancient  Greeks  invested 
all  that  appertained  to  the  dead. 
"  It  is  one  of  the  finest  specimens 
of  the  kind,  its  height  being  two 
feet,  two  and  a  half  inches.  It 
was  purchased  in  Italy,  by  the  late  Mr.  Tresham,  for  £50." 


THE    ETRUSCAN    VASE.  213 

The  engraving  gives  a  front  view  of  the  vase.  The  reverse  has 
no  figures,  but  is  ornamented  with  tracery  of  honeysuckle,  disposed 
in  the  most  graceful  manner,  and  elegantly  varied.  The  figures,  and 
general  developement,  represent  a  funereal  ceremony.  In  the  centre 
is  a  sepulchral  monument  in  the  form  of  an  cedicula,  or  small  distyle 
temple,  elevated  on  a  double  base.  The  front  is  composed  of  two 
columns,  supporting  the  architrave  and  pediment.  In  the  vacant 
space  between  the  columns,  the  deceased  is  represented  seated, 
holding  a  pyxis  or  box,  with  jewels,  or  other  female  ornaments,  and 
an  object  which  it  is  difficult  to  distinguish,  but  which  appears  to  be 
a  ball  of  wool  (roAtW)  for  spinning.  She  is  undressed,  except  a  large 
mantle  or  Phars  thrown  over  her,  in  the  same  manner  as  is  seen  in 
figures  of  Venus.  One  of  her  attendants  is  standing  before  her, 
and  conversing  with  her ;  she  holds  a  fan  and  a  wreath  of  flowers. 
In  one  of  the  angles  is  a  small  window,  indicating  that  the  scene  takes 
place  in  a  dwelling-house.  In  the  opposite  angle,  a  fillet  or  girdle  is 
suspended.  Near  the  tomb  are  one  male  and  three  female  figures 
bringing  offerings  in  honour  of  the  deceased ;  these  consisted  usually  of 
objects  analogous  to  the  profession,  taste,  or  pursuits  of  the  deceased. 
As  this  monument  is  that  of  a  lady,  the  offerings  consist  of  two  mir 
rors,  two  baskets  for  female  attire  (rai^ai),  a  tympanum,  and  fan  ;  there 
are  also  two  plates,  probably  containing  fruits;  and  the  young  man 
holds  a  lecythuS)  with  which  he  pours  perfume  on  the  monument. 
Several  fillets  on  the  field  are  supposed  to  be  suspended  on  the  walls 
of  the  monument. 

Similar  ceremonies  were  performed  in  honour  of  the  deceased  by 
their  relations  and  friends  on  the  anniversary  of  their  birth  or  of  their 
death,  and  at  various  times  of  the  year;  Pollux  says  on  the  9th,  and 
30th  day  of  every  month.  They  were  called  x7f^s-/"«7<*,  and  correspond 
with  the  Roman  Parentalia.  Similar  subjects  are  frequently  repre 
sented  on  vases  which  were  intended  to  be  placed  in  tombs.  The  dra 
peries  of  the  figures  and  other  parts  of  the  ornaments  of  this  vase  have 
been  highly  decorated  with  delicate  designs  in  white,  and  perhaps 
other  colours :  these  have  perished,  and  are  now  only  visible  in  a 


214  TIIE    ETRUSCAN    VASE. 

strong  lateral  light.     They  are  too  minute  to  be  given  in  an  engraving 
of  this  size. 

The  following  letter  from  Sir  Henry  Englefield,  Bart.,  to  the  late 
Henry  Fuseli  contains  a  minutely  detailed  and  ample  account  of  the 
means  employed  in  the  decoration  of  these  interesting  and  beautiful 
objects. 

"Tilney  Street,  August  24, '1823. 
"  DEAR  SIK, 

"  At  your  desire  1  communicate  to  you  such  observations  on  the 
ancient  vases  commonly  called  Etruscan,  as  a  minute  examination 
of  many  of  the  finest  specimens  in  the  magnificent  collection  of  Mr. 
Thomas  Plope,  and  the  select  and  very  beautiful  one  belonging  to  Mr. 
Edwards,  have  enabled  me  to  make,  particularly  with  respect  to  the 
mechanical  process  used  in  the  decoration  of  them. 

"  The  material  of  these  vases  is  clay  of  a  very  fine  and  close  quality, 
extremely  light,  and  of  a  colour  nearly  the  same  in  all,  a  light  and 
agreeable  orange-red.  They  all,  without  exception,  are  covered  with 
a  varnish  or  glazing  of  a  dark  colour,  but  not  in  all  of  the  same  tint ; 
in  some,  it  has  a  greenish  hue,  and  a  lustre  of  a  metallic  appearance  ; 
this  is  most  striking  in  those  found  at  Nola.  In  many,  the  varnish 
is  of  a  brownish  black,  like  Asphaltum.  The  vases  may  be  ranked 
in  four  classes. 

"  1.  Those  covered  with  varnish  without  ornament  or  painting  of 
any  kind. 

"  2.  Those  which  bear  on  the  natural  ground  of  the  ware,  figures  in 
black  varnish. 

"  3.  Those  whose  figures  are  left  in  red,  the  vase  being  covered  with 
varnish. 

"4.  Yases  covered  entirely  with  varnish,  on  which  ornaments  are 
painted  in  colours. 

"  Of  the  first  sort  it  will  be  necessary  to  say  but  little.  Many  of 
the  most  exquisitely  formed  Nolan  vases  are  of  this  sort.  The  var 
nish  appears  to  have  been  laid  on  while  the  vase  was  on  the  lathe. 


THE    ETRUSCAN    VASE.  215 

The  parallel  strokes  visible  on  the  surface  of  the  varnish,  and  its  ex 
treme  equality  of  tint,  prove  this.  No  better  mode  can  be  desired  for 
varnishing,  except  dipping  the  ware  into  the  liquid  varnish;  and  this 
was  not  done  in  these  vases,  as  the  varnish  never  covers  the  hollow 
of  the  foot,  nor  descends  deep  within  the  neck.  I  cannot  at  all  say 
whether  the  vase  was  varnished  while  yet  wet,  or  first  suffered  to 
dry,  or  even  baked  a  first  time,  as  is  the  process  in  much  of  our  com 
mon  modern  glazed  earthenware. 

"  The  second  sort  bear  in  general,  marks  of  the  most  remote  anti 
quity.  The  figures  are  universally  of  a  stiff  and  meagre  form,  the 
drapery  close,  and  the  folds  few  and  hard.  Yet  in  many  the  com 
position  is  good,  and  the  action  of  the  figures  vigorous.  They  exactly 
resemble  in  style,  the  bronzes  still  remaining  of  Etruscan  work.  The 
mode  pursued  in  painting  them  was  this : 

"  The  intended  figure  was  painted  without  any  previous  discovera 
ble  outline  in  varnish,  and  then  resembled  exactly  those  figures  so- 
common  under  the  name  of  Silhouettes.  When  the  varnish  was  quite 
dry  and  hard,  the  features,  the  limbs,  and  the  folds  of  the  drapery,  &c., 
were  scratched  through  it  with  a  pointed  tool,  which  was  applied  with 
such  force  as  to  cut  some  depth  into  the  clay  of  the  vase.  This  sort 
of  outlining  was  sometimes  carried  round  parts  of  the  contour,  which 
appeared  to  the  artist  not  sufficiently  distinct  without  it.  The  hands 
and  fingers  are  often  thus  partially  scratched  out.  Parts  of  the  dra 
pery  and  ornaments  on  the  heads  of  the  figures  were  then  covered 
with  a  coat  of  coloured  paint.  Violet  occurs  most  frequently  ;  often 
a  green,  and  sometimes  white.  In  some  vases  of  the  most  ancient 
and  rudest  appearances,  animals,  particularly  birds,  are  coloured  not 
only  with  these  colours,  but  also  red  and  yellow  ;  and  the  appearance 
and  style  of  these  vases  have  a  great  resemblance  to  the  Egyptian 
paintings  on  their  mummy  chests.  The  vases  of  this  sort  are  said  to 
be  universally  found  in  the  deepest  graves,  so  deep  indeed,  that  over 
them  sepulchral  chambers  of  a  later  date,  with  vases  of  a  totally  dif 
ferent  character,  are  often  found. 

"  That  the  colours  above  mentioned  were  jmt  on  after  the  outline 
was  scratched  in,  is  ascertained  by  the  circumstance  of  the  colours 


216  THE    ETRUSCAN    VASE. 

having  in  many  instances  run  into,  arid  partially  filled  np  the  strokes 
engraved  in  the  vases.  This  species  of  painting  is  evidently  the  first 
improvement  on  the  simple  Skiagrams. 

"  The  vases  of  the  third  description,  namely  those  whose  figures  are 
left  in  red  on  a  ground  of  dark  varnish,  are  by  much  the  most  com 
mon  of  any,  and  are  found  of  all  degrees  of  excellence,  from  the  most 
careless  and  slight  finishing,  to  the  most  exquisite  work  ;  but  in  all, 
the  style  of  design  is  essentially  different  from  those  described  above 
with  the  figures  in  black.  In  the  red  figures,  however  negligently 
executed,  there  is  a  fulness  of  form,  and  a  freedom  of  drapery, 
perfectly  similar  to  the  remains  of  Greek  art  which  have  reached  us, 
whether  in  sculpture  or  coins.  The  process  also  of  this  execution  is 
entirely  different  from  the  second  sort,  and  will  now  be  minutely 
described  from  repeated  observations  of  many  of  the  most  exquisite 
of  them,  made  not  only  with  the  naked  eye,  but  with  glasses  of  high 
magnifying  power. 

"  The  first  thing  painted  on  these  vases  was  the  outline  of  the  figures, 
not  only  of  their  contour,  but  the  markings  of  the  features,  muscles, 
folds  of  the  drapery,  ornaments,  &c.  This  outline,  in  those  vases 
which  are  of  fine  execution,  was  made  with  an  instrument  which  car 
ried  a  very  fine  and  equal  point,  and  at  the  same  time  left  a  very  full 
body  of  the  colour  used  on  the  vase.  The  colour  itself  appears  to  have 
been  of  a  thick  consistence  ;  for  if  the  strokes,  even  the  finest  (which 
are  as  fine  as  could  be  made  by  a  good  pen)  are  carefully  examined 
with  a  magnifier  in  a  side  light,  it  will  be  distinctly  perceived  that 
there  is  a  slight  hollow  in  the  middle  of  each,  owing  to  the  colour 
having  flowed  round  the  point  which  traced  it,  and  met  behind  it — 
just  as  we  see  in  a  road  where  the  mud  is  of  a  semi-fluid  consistence, 
that  the  track  of  a  wheel  is  filled  in  with  the  pasty  mire,  leaving  a 
depressed  line  in  the  centre  of  the  rut.  It  is  impossible  to  say 
whether  the  instrument  used  for  these  outlines  was  of  the  nature  of  a 
pen  or  a  brush  ;  yet  I  am  inclined  to  think  from  the  flowing  appear 
ance  of  the  lines  that  a  firm  and  finely  pointed  brush  or  pencil  wras 
used.  Whichever  it  was,  the  hands  which  guided  it  possessed  a 
steadiness  and  freedom  of  execution  almost  incredible.  Lines  of  a 


THE    ETRUSCAN    VASE. 

great  length,  and  difficult  curvatures  are  carried  over  the  convex 
surfaces  of  the  vases  without  the  least  wavering  or  indecision,  or  any 
lifting  the  point  from  the  vase,  or  any  repetition  or  filling  up  of  the 
stroke.  An  attentive  examination  of  the  outline  will  ascertain  this 
fact  beyond  a  doubt,  and  a  further  proof  of  it  may  be  drawn  from  the 
few  instances  in  which  strokes  of  very  great  length  have  been  done  at 
twice,  particularly  in  a  vase  of  great  size  and  admirable  execution  in 
the  collection  of  Mr.  Hope,  representing  probably  the  story  of  Trip- 
tolemus,  where  the  long  parallel  lines  marking  the  feathers  of  the 
wing  of  a  genius  have  been  suspended  about  half  way  ;  and  no  par 
ticular  care  has  been  taken  to  conceal  the  junction  of  the  lines.  This 
vase  also  furnishes  a  very  rare  and  instructive  instance  of  what,  by 
artists,  are  called  pcntimenti,  or  changes  of  design.  The  wheel  of  a 
chariot,  and  part  of  the  arms  of  a  figure,  with  a  patera  or  cup  in  the 
hand,  have  been  considerably  varied  ;  and  the  first  outline  is  still 
visible  like  a  faint  red  chalk  stroke,  but  without  any  enlargement  or 
smearing,  so  that  it  should  seem  the  false  stroke  was  scratched  off  by 
a  sharp  edge,  carefully  applied  to  the  surface  of  the  vase  when  the 
varnish  or  paint  was  nearly  dry. 

"  That  the  outline  was  performed  with  this  freedom  and  celerity, 
and  scarcely  ever  altered,  may  be  further  inferred  from  the  great  inac 
curacies  of  drawing  so  frequent  even  in  those  vases  whose  design  and 
execution  are  of  the  very  highest  class.  Perhaps  an  absolutely  un 
erring  precision  of  hand  has  never  been  the  lot  of  any  artist  however 
excellent.'  The  drawings  of  the  greatest  masters  prove  that  they 
found  many  things  to  alter  in  their  most  careful  first  lines  ;  and  the 
union  of  excellence  and  defect  on  the  vases  can,  I  think,  only  be 
accounted  for  in  the  supposition  of  an  unaltered  line. 

"  What  has  been  hitherto  said  of  the  mode  of  outlining  this  sort  of 
vases  is  applicable  only  to  the  finish  of  them.  In  those  of  inferior 
finish,  the  outlines  are  much  thicker,  and  laid  on  with  a  less  body  of 
colour ;  and  in  many  of  the  coarsest,  there  is  reason  to  think  that  no 
outline  at  all  was  made,  but  that  the  figures  were  merely  left  red  in 
the  general  wash  of  the  vase,  with  the  dark  coloured  varnish,  and  the 
outlines  of  the  features,  folds  of  the  drapery,  <fcc.,  were  put  iu  with  a 

28 


218  THE    ETRUSCAN    VASE. 

large  brush,  and  in  a  very  careless  manner.  Indeed  on  the  very 
finest  of  the  vases,  the  subordinate  decorations,  such  as  the  honey 
suckle  (as  it  is  called)  ornament,  so  frequent  under  the  handles,  were 
simply  left  red  in  the  general  wash  of  varnish  over  the  body  of  the 
vase  ;  at  least  no  outline  of  them  is  now  discoverable. 

"To  return  to  the  painting  of  the  finest  vases,  the  outline  already 
described  being  perfectly  dry,  the  artist  with  a  brush  or  other  similar 
instrument  which  bore  a  full  body  of  colour  and  made  a  stroke  of 
about  a  quarter  of  an  inch  in  breadth,  went  carefully  round  the  con 
tours  of  the  outlined  figures.  In  this  operation,  an  opportunity  was 
given  to  make  slight  alterations  in  the  design,  and  in  some  degree  to 
amend  the  contour.  This  seems  to  have  been  often  done ;  for  the 
original  outline  is  often  covered  in  parts  by  this  wash,  and  appears 
projecting  from  the  surface  of  the  vase  under  it ;  affording  also  a 
proof  that  the  outline  was  dry  and  hard  before  this  wash  was  laid  on. 
Frequently,  also,  this  wash  does  not  come  quite  up  to  the  original 
outline  ;  but  in  general  the  wash  follows  the  outline  in  a  most  steady 
and  masterly  manner.  Probably  at  this  time,  the  hair  of  the  figures 
was  put  in  with  a  thin  wash  of  the  same  varnish  or  colour,  managed 
with  peculiar  freedom  and  dexterity,  and  so  washed  out  to  nothing  at 
the  extremities  of  the  flowing  curls  of  the  tresses,  as  to  have  the  light 
est  and  at  the  same  time,  the  most  finished  effect.  It  is  to  be  observed, 
that  the  hair,  which  in  some  parts  is  as  dark  as  the  ground  of  the  vase, 
is  not  carried  quite  to  the  ground,  but  that  a  small  space  is  left  red 
round  the  hair  in  order  to  relieve  it  from  the  ground  of  the  vase. 
The  truth  of  the  contour  being  thus  secured  by  this  narrow  border  of 
ground  carefully  laid  on,  the  covering  of  the  remaining  surface  of  the 
vase  with  its  varnish  might  be  safely  intrusted  to  an  inferior  hand. 
That  the  varnish  was  laid  on  at  twice,  is  evident  by  inspection  of  any 
well  finished  vase,  where  the  first  narrow  line  of  varnish  is  distinctly 
visible  under  the  general  wash.  This  process  finished  the  greater 
part  of  the  vases,  even  the  finest ;  but  on  some,  particularly  those  of 
the  largest  size,  when  everything  else  was  quite  dry,  some  parts 
of  the  design  were  coloured  with  washes  of  two  different  tints. 
The  horses  and  parts  of  the  armour  are  painted  with  white,  which 


THK    KTKUSCAN    VASE.  219 

when  dry  is  opaque,  but  when  wetted  becomes  nearly  transpa 
rent. 

"  Parts  of  the  drapery  and  ornaments  round  the  necks  and  on  the 
heads  of  the  figures  and  some  of  the  shields,  are  painted  yellow,  and 
several  small  flowers  and  ornaments  of  foliage,  which  are  interspersed 
among  the  figures,  are  painted  in  white  and  yellow.  The  internal 
outlines  and  muscles  of  the  horses  are  painted  with  lines  of  a  light 
orange  on  the  white  ;  and  the  white  shields  are  ornamented  in  the 
same  manner.  That  the  white  horses  were  painted  after  the  original 
black  outline  of  the  human  figures  was  dry,  is  evidently  seen  in  the 
magnificent  vase  in  the  possession  of  Mr.  Edwards.  In  that  vase,  a 
leg  of  one  of  the  horses  comes  across  the  thigh  and  drapery  of  a  fig 
ure,  and  the  original  outline  of  that  figure  is  visible  under  the  white 
colour  which  forms  the  horse's  leg.  All  these  colours  are  so  fixed  on 
the  vases,  probably  by  fire,  that  they  resist  the  action  of  aquafortis. 

"  The  vases  of  the  last  sort,  namely  those  which  have  ornaments  in 
white  and  other  colours  painted  on  a  black  ground,  which  covered  the 
whole  surface  of  the  vase  are  very  rarely  to  be  met  with.  Mr.  Hope 
possesses  several,  which  Sir  William  Hamilton  told  me  were  all  found 
in  one  sepulchral  chamber,  in  which  none  of  any  other  sort  were 
placed.  The  cause  of  this  singularity  it  were  vain  to  enquire.  No 
figures  are  represented  on  these  vases,  but  the  ornaments  are  light 
wreaths  of  ivy  or  vine-leaves  with  masks  and  other  bacchanalian  sym 
bols.  The  execution  is  careless,  but  spirited ;  the  paint  used  seems 
of  the  same  quality  with  that  above  described  as  covering  the  horses, 
&c.,  in  vases  of  the  third  sort ;  and  the  mode  of  applying  it  appears 
in  no  wise  to  differ  from  what  would  now  be  pursued.  It  is  not, 
therefore,  necessary  to  say  anything  further  on  this  subject.  It  is  sin 
gular,  that  on  vases  so  profusely  adorned  with  painting,  scarcely  an 
instance  of  anything  like  bas-relief  or  sculpture  of  any  kind  occurs  ; 
on  the  handles  of  Mr.  Edwards's  great  vase  two  full  faces  in  very  flat 
relief  are  seen  ;  but,  con  rispetto  parlando,  is  it  quite  certain  that  these 
handles  are  entirely  ancient? 

"  These  are  the  observations  which  a  very  careful  examination  has 
enabled  me  to  make  on  the  mechanical  process  used  in  adorning  the 


220  THE    ETliUSCAN    VASE. 

ancient  earthen  vases  called  Etruscan.  To  your  judgment,  dear  Sir, 
I  submit  them,  confident  that  you  will,  si  (jitid  novisti  rectius  istis, 
candidus  rectify  my  errors. 

vi  I  am,  with  sincere  regard, 


"  Your  obliged  and  faithful 

*'  II.  ENGLEFIELD. 


To  HKNRY  FUSELI,  Esq.,  R.A." 


ODE  TO  CLEOMENES,  THE  ATHENIAN  SCULPTOR, 

SUPPOSED  TO  BE  RECITED   IX   HIS   HONOUR   AT  A  BANQUET  GIVEN  TO  HIM  ON  THE    COMPLETION 
OF  HIS  STATUE  OF  VENUS  ANADYOMENE,  NOW  CALLED 

THE    VENUS    DE    MEDICIS. 


REATIIE  the  laurel !  strike  the  lyre  ! 

Crown  with  rose  the  Chian*  wine, 
For  the  Greek  whose  soul  of  fire 

Formed  the  Goddess-Queen  divine, 
Bow,  ye  Greeks  of  all  degrees, 

To  the  great  Cleomenes. 


*  At  the  festivals  of  the  ancient  Greeks,  the  wine  cups  were  encircled  with  garlands  of 
roses.  The  Chian  wine  was  a  potent  beverage  made  from  the  grapes  for  which  the  isle  of 
Chios  was  famed. 


222  OD£    TO    CLEOMENE8. 

II. 

To  the  grand  aspiring  mind, 
Whence  as  from  an  altar  rose, 

Thoughts  sublime  till  here  combined, 
Pure  and  perfect  beauty  glows, 

Till  the  Goddess  from  her  shrine 
Breathes  o'er  all  her  charm  divine. 

in. 

Fires  the  fancy,  feeds  the  soul ; 

Steeps  each  sense  in  trembling  love, 
Rapturous  as  the  flames  that  roll 

Through  the  radiant  breast  of  Jove  ; 
Triumph,  honour,  love,  and  peace, 

To  the  great  Cleomenes. 

IV. 

Haste,  ye  maidens,  young  and  fair, 
Where  the  rose  and  myrtle  blow, 

These  to  bind  your  waving  hair, 
Those  beneath  his  feet  to  throw, 

Singing  to  soft  melodies, 
Honour  to  Cleomenes. 


With  the  ringing  tambourine, 

Let  the  tide  of  joy  increase  ; 
O'er  your  white  arms  waving  seen, 

Dark-eyed  maids  !  the  Girls  of  Greece  ! 
While  like  winds  o'er  summer  seas, 

Youths  proclaim  Cleomenes. 

VI. 

Wreathe  the  laurel  !  strike  the  lyre  ! 

Crown  with  rose  the  Chian  wine, 
To  the  Greek  whose  soul  of  fire, 

Formed  the  Goddess-Queen  divine. 
Bow,  -ye  Greeks  of  all  degrees, 

To  the  great  Cleomenes. 


CLEOMENES.  223 

The  inscription  on  the  plinth  of  this  incomparable  statue  is  as 
follows  : 

KAEOMENHS-AnOAAOAnPOT 
A0HNAI02 


which  in  English  reads  :  —  Cleomenes  an  Athenian  the  son  (or  disci 
ple)  of  Apollodorus  made  this. 

Cleomenes  is  mentioned  by  Pliny,  and  lived  about  200  years  B.  C. 
The  statue  was  found  in  the  Villa  of  Hadrian,  near  Tivoli,  but  was  re 
moved  to  Florence  in  1680.  In  the  year  1800  it  was  with  many  other 
master-pieces  of  art,  carried  to  Paris  by  order  of  Napoleon,  'where 
it  remained  until  his  final  overthrow  in  1815.  On  its  arrival  in 
Paris,  a  medal,  which  forms  one  of  the  finest  of  the  Napoleon  series, 
was  struck  in  honour  of  the  event,  having  this  inscription  on  the 
obverse:  "  Aux  Arts  la  Victoire."  The  statue  now  occupies  its 
former  place  in  the  Tribune  of  the  Ducal  Gallery. 

Its  height  is  four  feet  eleven  and  a  half  inches,  exclusive  of 
the  plinth.  It  is  celebrated  by  all  writers  on  ancient  art,  and  by 
many  poets.  In  Thomson's  Seasons  it  is  called  "  The  Statue  that 
enchants  the  world  ;"  and  Lord  Byron  in  Childe  Harold,  devotes  no 
less  than  five  exquisite  stanzas  of  nine  lines  each,  in  admiration  of 
it.  When  Samuel  Eogers  was  in  Florence  completing  his  poem 
of  Italy,  he  spent  one  hour  every  forenoon  in  the  Tribune,  feasting 
his  eyes  on  the  work  of  Cleomenes. 

In  Eichardson's  Account  of  the  Statues  and  Bas-Eeliefs  of  Italy, 
published  in  1722,  he  states  that  there  were  then  existing  in  Eome 
and  Florence  alone,  upwards  of  one  hundred  antique  copies  of  the 
Yenus  of  Cleomenes.  Modern  copies  are  in  thousands,  and  casts  in 
plaster  innumerable  all  over  the  world.  It  is  known  that  one  of 
the  fingers  of  the  left  hand  is  modern,  and  as  every  circumstance 
which  relates  to  this  master-piece  of  antiquity,  is  interesting,  it  may 
be  well  to  state  how  the  finger  was  broken,  and  also  why  the  statue 
was  at  one  time  called  by  Englishmen  at  Florence,  Lady  Ossory. 

In  the  time  of  Cosmo  III.,  Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany,  Lord  Ossory 


224  CLEOMENES. 

being  then  at  Florence,  was  one  day  in  company  with  the  Duke, 
contemplating  this  wonderful  statue,  and  offered  him  one  hundred 
thousand  livres  if  he  would  l>e  induced  to  part  with  it,  asking 
two  months'  time  to  procure  the  money  from  England,  and  adding 
that  a  ship  should  be  sent  from  thence  expressly  for  the  purpose  of 
its  conveyance.  The  Duke  smiled  at  the  proposal,  but  without 
making  any  reply  turned  towards  the  Marquis  Malespina,  wrho  wras 
present,  and  desired  him  to  take  down  his  Lordship's  name,  and  the 
affair  ended  as  a  piece  of  pleasantry.  Lord  Ossory  had  a  very  fine 
cornelian  ring,  with  an  engraving  of  Cupid  on  it,  which  the  Duke 
having  seen  some  days  before,  had  admired  so  much  that  his 
Lordship  \vished  to  present  it  to  him.  His  Highness,  however, 
would  not  accept  the  ring,  and  the  Englishman,  with  a  delicate 
generosity,  requested  of  Cosmo,  that  although  he  would  not  part 
with  the  Venus,  he  would  at  least  permit  him  to  marry  her.  The 
Duke  having  willingly  consented,  his  Lordship  put  the  ring  on  the 
finger  of  the  Goddess,  and  fixed  it  as  firmly  as  possible,  thus  find 
ing  means  to  gratify  the  Duke  without  wounding  his  self-love. 

Cosmo,  thinking  the  representation  of  Cupid  agreeable  to  the 
subject  of  the  statue,  suffered  the  ring  to  remain,  and  the  Goddess 
would  still  have  been  adorned  with  it,  had  not  a  certain  personage 
resolving  to  remove  it,  clandestinely  entered  the  gallery  and  attempted 
to  appropriate  the  ring  to  himself,  when  being  obliged  to  use  force, 
the  finger  was  broken.  But  the  ring  was  recovered,  and  is  still 
appended  to  a  little  gold  chain,  in  the  Crystal  Cabinet  in  the  Royal 
Gallery.  The  Journalist  adds,  that  this  attempt  at  petty  larceny,  in 
depriving  Lady  Ossory  of  her  marriage  ring,  was  committed  by  a 
personage  of  distinguished  rank,  wThose  name  is  not  given. 

The  engravings  are  copied,  on  a  very  reduced  scale,  from  a  set 
of  outline  drawings  made  by  Joseph  Nollekens,  R.A.,  a  celebrated 
English  sculptor.  The  originals  are  crossed  by  numerous  lines  in 
all  directions,  on  which  are  marked  the  respective  measurements. 
The  following  certificate  is  on  one  of  them :  "  That  no  doubt  of  the 
authenticity  and  accuracy  of  these  measurements  may  be  hereafter 
entertained,  I  now  certify  that  they  were  with  the  most  scrupulous 


CLEOMENES. 


225 


attention,  taken  by  me  on  the  real  statue,  at  Florence,  in  June, 
1770,  when  it  was  off  its  pedestal  modelling  for  the  King  of  Spain. 

"  JOSEPH  NOLLEKENS." 

A  very  fine  copy,  cut  by  "Nollekens,  is  in  the  Gallery  of  the  Duke 
of  Gordon,  at  Fochabers,  in  the  north  of  Scotland. 


29 


ROSE    MALCOLM. 

HROUGH  lonely  valleys  deep  and  wild, 
With  summer  herbage  thickly  piled, 

Rose  Malcolm  walks  alone  ; 
Attempting  oft,  with  silvery  sound, 
To  lure  again  her  wandering  hound, 

Deep  in  the  greenwood  gone. 

In  vain  she  calls  :  her  thrilling  words 
Are  answered  but  by  warbling  birds, 

Or  echoes  from  the  rock  ; 
Till,  on  a  sudden,  from  her  cheek 
The  colour  fades, — for  voices  speak 

As  though  her  tones  they  mock. 

Listening  she  stands,  as  pale  and  mute 
As  when  she  feared  Sir  Huon's  suit 

Should  with  her  sire  prevail : 
And  now,  her  terror  who  may  tell  ? 
For  that  fierce  Knight,  known  but  too  well, 

Rides  swift  o'er  down  and  dale  : 

And  by  his  side  his  henchman  bold, 
Gaunt  as  a  night-wolf  of  the  wold, 

And  dreaded  as  his  lord ; 
Whose  fiery  courser,  strong  and  proud, 
With  arched  neck  and  neighing  loud, 

Comes  trampling  o'er  the  sward. 

Nigh  as  they  come,  the  maiden's  form, 
Like  flower  that  folds  before  the  storm, 

With  terror  sinks, — when  lo ! 
From  a  dark  thicket  springs  her  hound, 
With  crouch,  and  whine,  and  joyous  bound, 

Disporting  to  and  fro. 


ROSE    MALCOLM.  227 

Meanwhile  the  horsemen,  hovering  near, 
Hold  parle  awhile,  with  eyes  that  sear 

The  modest  maiden's  gaze, — 
Who  scarce  their  flushing  looks  has  scanned, 
Ere  from  her  locks  a  silken  band 

She  to  her  hound  displays. 


Then,  with  a  wild  and  thrilling  cry 

Of  "  Home  !  "  she  flings  the  pledge  on  high, 

One  moment  views  his  speed, — 
The  next  is  to  Sir  Huon  pressed ; 
As  o'er  a  rugged  mountain's  breast 

He  spurs  his  flying  steed. 


Onward  they  rush  o'er  mount  and  moor, 
O'er  holt  and  heath,  till  noon  is  o'er, 

When,  from  a  deathlike  trance, 
The  maid  awakes  with  piercing  scream, 
Beholding,  though  as  in  a  dream, 

A  Chief  in  swift  advance. 


On  !  On  !  He  comes  !  'Tis  he — her  sire,- 
His  teeth  close  clenched,  his  soul  on  fire, 

His  sheathless  blade  in  hand  ; 
Beneath  whose  first  resistless  blow, 
The  savage  henchman,  falling  low, 

Expires  upon  the  sand. 


And  whilst  the  recreant's  charger  flies, 
With  falcon  swoop  he  wrests  the  prize, 

From  fell  Sir  HUGH'S  grasp  ; 
Holding  at  bay  the  furious  Knight, 
Who,  wild  with  rage,  puts  forth  his  might 

To  win  her  from  his  clasp. 


HOSE    MALCOLM. 

Fruitless  his  toil :  ne'er  shall  he  set 
That  pearl  upon  his  coronet ; 

For  now  o'er  hill  and  plain, 
The  Malcolm's  Gathering  proudly  swells, 
And  loud  and  high,  at  intervals, 

Is  heard  the  clansmen's  strain. 

Near  as  they  come,  the  blaze  of  strife 
Less  fiercely  glows :  Sir  HUGH'S  life 

Sinks  fast  beneath  the  sword ; 
And  his  last  grim  and  baleful  glance 
Beholds  the  Chieftain's  clan  advance, 

To  hail  their  victor  Lord. 


UNDINE. 


N  the  bright  dawning  of  a  summer  morn, 
Ere  yet  the  lark  had  left  its  dewy  nest, 
A  noble  knight,  on  milk-white  courser  borne, 
To  an  enchanted  wood  his  course  adclrest: 
Bright  was  his  eye,  and  his  whole  mien  exprest 
Acquaintance  with  the  lance,  the  helm,  and  sword ; 
A  soldier  from  the  stirrup  to  the  crest, 
Yet  fitted  well  for  hall  or  festal  board  : 

Sir  Huldbrand  was  he  styled — Ringstetten's  youth 
ful  lord. 


ii. 

Amidst  the  leaves  from  morn  till  noon  he  rode, 
When  sounds  unearthly  murmured  on  his  ear, 
And  phantom  shapes,  of  wild  and  evil  bode, 
Amongst  the  haunted  boughs  began  to  peer ; 
Whereat  the  steed,  oppressed  with  sudden  fear, 
Across  the  forest  with  his  rider  flew ; 
And  soon  had  made  a  deep  abyss  his  bier, 
But  that  a  hermit  old,  all  white  of  hue, 

His  palely  mantled  form  athwart  the  pathway  threw. 


230  UNDINE. 

III. 

Checked  in  the  moment  of  his  fellest  ire, 

The  steed,  as  touched  by  an  enchanter's  wand, 
Grew  still  as  stone,  with  eyes  of  living  fire, 
And  breath  that  rolled  like  smoke  along  the  land, 
Whilst  his  proud  neck,  like  bow  in  archer's  hand, 
Was  by  his  tow'ring  rider  strongly  bent, 
WTho  in  his  heart  could  scarce  a  fear  withstand, 
When  the  old  hermit's  form  seemed  strangely  blent 
With  a  wild  mountain-stream  that  through  the  forest  went. 


IV. 

Yet,  ne'er  the  less  the  adventurous  knight  spurred  on, 
Albeit  the  angry  waves,  with  deafening  roar, 
WTould  rise  in  nodding  piles,  and  then  anon 
Assail  him  with  their  foam  for  evermore ; 
Till,  at  the  last,  of  reason  nigh  forlore 
And  wildly  flying  over  bosk  and  brake, 
He  reached,  at  close  of  day,  a  cottage  door, 
O'erhung  with  many  a  rich  and  fragrant  flake 

Of  hawthorn  boughs  that  dipped  into  a  silv'ry  lake ; 


Where  in  a  nook  of  blossoms  he  espied 
An  aged  sire,  low  seated  on  the  ground, 
Mending  his  nets  in  the  cool  eventide, 
With  whom  he  rest  and  shelter  gladly  found  : 
But  soon  new  wonders  rose ;  for  whilst  the  sound 
Of  water  dashed  against  the  ivied  pane, 
There  came  a  blue-eyed  nymph,  with  hair  unbound, 
And  song  as  sweet  as  linnet's  after  rain, 

Who  playfully  approached,  and  knelt  before  the  twain. 


UNDINE. 


231 


232  UNDINE. 


Meanwhile,  with  courteous  words,  in  accents  mild, 
The  aged  sire  besought  his  noble  guest 
To  pardon  this  his  wilful  foster-child, 
Whom,  whilst  reproachfully  he  then  addrest, 
The  untutored  girl,  like  dove  that  seeks  its  nest, 
Close  to  the  wond'ring  stranger  trembling  clung; 
And  while  her  golden  locks  drooped  o'er  his  breast, 
With  looks  of  innocence,  and  artless  tongue, 

Inquired  if  from  the  wood,  or  whence,  the  traveller  sprung  ? 


VII. 

But  ere  her  question  gained  the  knight's  reply, 
Her  sire  with  angry  chidings  interposed, 
And,  as  a  vision  from  the  awakening  eye, 
So  fled  the  maid  who  at  his  knee  reposed ; 
Fast  they  pursued,  but  darkness  round  them  closed, 
And  nought  gave  answer  to  their  eager  cries, 
Save  the  loud  winds,  and  waters  that  uprouscd 
Their  foamy  crests  against  the  ebon  skies, 

Beneath  whose  sable  pall  the  enchanted  wood  did  rise. 


VIII. 

Amidst  the  crashing  boughs,  the  well-known  stream 
Rolled  like  a  mighty  river,  in  whose  wave 
The  knight,  when  plunged,  beheld,  as  in  a  dream, 
Upon  an  isle  the  form  he  sought  to  save, 
And  heard  that  voice  of  music  softly  crave, 
That  of  the  hermit  old  he  would  beware ; 
Whereat,  with  heart  a  thousand  times  more  brave, 
He  stemmed  the  flood,  and,  with  a  lover's  care, 

In  safety  o'er  its  tide  the  youthful  maiden  bare. 


TNDINK. 


Weeping  with  joy,  the  aged  father  threw 
His  arms  across  the  brook  to  clasp  his  child, 
With  whom  as  to  the  shore  Sir  Huldbrand  drew, 
At  every  step  the  waves  appeared  less  wild, 
And  through  the  boughs  the  hermit  grimly  smiled 
As  in  approval  of  the  passing  scene : 
Whilst  now,  of  every  care  and  fear  beguiled, 
The  evening  closed  in  nuptial  joy  serene, 

The  knight  a  bridegroom  gay — his  bride  the  fair  Undine. 


T  II  E     M  A  R  G  H    OP    THE     CLANS. 
AIR — "  The  Campbells  are  Coming;" 


HE  Clans  of  the  Highlands  are  up  and 

aw  a'  ; 
MacDonald,   Clan  Ronald,  MaeGregor, 

Macraw ! 

The  tartans  are  streaming; 
The  war-pipes  are  screaming  ; 
The  claymores  are  gleaming,  hurrah  ! 

hurrah  I 
Saint  Andrew  for  Scotland  !  the  bonnie 

and  braw. 
The  kilt  and  the  plaidie,   the  bonnet 

and  a' ; 

Brave  sons  of  the  heather,  strike  well,  and  together, 
For  auld  Scottish  honour,  and  glory,  and  a'. 


There's  Gordon  the  gallant,  brave  Campbell,  and  Mai-, 

The  Douglas,  the  Maxwell,  Lochiel,  and  Dunbar, 

Their  pibrochs  are  pealing 

From  castle  and  shoaling  ; 

Each  watch-tower  revealing  the  standard  of  war. 

£? 

On,  on,  o'er  the  hills  where  the  bold  eagle  flies, 
O'er  muirs,  where  the  stag  and  the  ptarmigan  rise, 
Scott,  Farquhar  and  Menzies  ;  the  stately  Mackenzie?, 
AYi'  Scotia's  proud  standard  unfurled  to  the  skies. 


MacPherson,  MacDougal,  MacLeod,  and  Dumnore, 
Graeme,  Athole,  and  Airly  ;  MacKay,  and  Kintore, 
Wi'  weapons  bright  glancing  ; 
Wi'  plumes  gaily  dancing  ; 


THE    MARCH    OF    THE    CLANS. 

Each  clan  wi'  its  pipers  proud  marching  before ; 

Bold  Frazers,  MacFarlanes,  and  Grants  o'  the  Spcy, 

All  gallantly  inarching  in  warlike  array, 

Through  wild  torrent  plashing,  through  deep  ravine  dashin 

O'er  mountains  illumed  by  the  beacon's  fierce  ray. 

IV. 

Joy,  joy  to  the  hour,  when  returning  once  more, 
The  march  of  the  Clans  shall  resound  on  the  shore ; 
Wi'  triumph  loud  swelling, 
In  ha'  and  low  dwelling, 

Where  groups  of  gay  dancers  spring  light  on  the  floor  ; 
Like  roses  in  sunshine,  when  summer  winds  blow, 
So  gracefully  bending,  so  brightly  they  glow  ; 
Drink  a'  wi'  fu'  tassie,  the  sweet  Highland  lassie, 
The  sweet  Highland  lassie  wherever  you  go. 


:s 


INVOCATION    TO  A  WREATH    OF  TRANSATLANTIC   FLOWERS 


flowers  that  o'er  the  dark  dread  sea, 

Like  faded  mourners  come, 

By  your  past  beauty  tell  to  me 

A  tale  of  mine  own  home. 


INVOCATION 


What  of  my  Father,  hardy  leaf 

Of  England's  bulwark  tree  ? 

He  lives,  unharmed  by  age  or  grief, 

His  emblem,  I  to  thee. 

His  step  is  firm,  his  eye  is  brio-lit, 

His  accent  clear  and  strong, 

As  when  thy  childhood  to  delight 

He  raised  the  joyous  song. 


in. 


What  of  my  Mother,  lovely  rose  ? 
Speak,  for  my  tears  arc  nigh. 

Look  on  the  stream  that  calmly  flows 

And  the  unclouded  sky, 

For  these  in  heaven's  own  language  show 

Her  spirit  unto  thine : 

The  stream  her  life's  pure  course  below, 

The  sky  her  trust  divine. 


tv 


What  of  my  Sister?  tell,  oh  tell, 

Thou  gentlest  forest  child, 

Coy  fairy  nun — meek  violet  bell, 

So  modest,  sweet  and  mild. 

Think  of  my  opening  blossoms  when 
They  first  adorn  the  lea— 
The  ring-dove  in  her  leafy  cell, 
Or  hive-crowned  honey-bee. 


238 


INVOCATION. 


V. 

And  what  of  Emily  the  fair, 
Sweet  lily,  pure  and  white, 
Whose  rosy  cheek  and  lovely  hair 
Haunt  my  charmed  dreams  by  night. 
In  sorrow's  darkest  day  of  ill, 
Her  laugh  a  joy  imparts, 
In  loveliness  unrivalled  still 
She  reigns  the  queen  of  hearts. 


VI. 

Woodbine,  sweet  woodbine,  softly  breathe, 

Last,  though  not  loved  the  less, 

Of  him  who  wild  as  thine  own  wreath 

Hath  all  its  artlessness. 

The  stag,  the  steed,  the  mountain  wind, 
The  birds  that  lightly  skim, 
All  joyful  things  unto  thy  mind 
May  bring  the  thought  of  him. 


VII. 


I  ask  no  more — Delightful  flowers, 

That  to  my  heart  have  given 

Sweet  thoughts,  bright  hopes,  and  happy  hours 

Of  thankfulness  to  Heaven. 


ROMANCE  OF  THE  SEA,  A  DESCRIPTIVE  CANTATA, 

THE  ADIEU. 

ROUND  my  bark,  while  murmuring  swell 

The  voices  of  the  sea, 
I'll  breathe  a  fervent,  fond  farewell. 
My  native  land,  to  thee. 

I  leave  the  treasures  of  my  soul, 

My  chaplct  of  Life's  flowers, 
Within  thy  keeping  and  control, 
To  bloom  for  brio-liter  hours. 


"With  favouring  wind,  and  swelling  sail, 
We  skirn  the  sparkling  deep, 

While  night  puts  on  her  silvery  veil 
And  stars  their  vigils  keep. 

'Tis  the  sweet  hour  when  prayers  of  love 
Ascend  from  earth  and  sea, 

And  mine  shall  rise  to  heaven  above, 
My  native  land  for  thee. 


BARCAROLLE. 


'ER  the  wild  ocean  gliding, 

Many  a  night  and  day, 
My  gallant  bark  is  riding, 

God  speed  her  on  her  way! 
The  waves  arc  rainbows  flinging — 

Loud  swells  the  seaman's  strain, 
Oh  !  bark,  speed  on,  swift  winging 

To  mine  own  land  again, 
To  the  home  where  fond  arms  clinging 

Shall  welcome  me  again. 


One  blissful  spirit  flying, 
With  me  I  bear  along, 

To  cheer  me  when  I'm  sighing, 
And  lull  me  with  her  sono- : 


BARCAltOLLE. 

"Tis  Hope — with  sweet  voice  ringing 

Along  the  flashing  main  ; 
Oh  !  bark,  speed  on,  light  winging 

To  mine  own  home  again  ; 
To  the  eyes  where  sweet  tears  springing 

Shall  welcome  me  again. 

in. 
When  storms  the  heavens  are  rending, 

My  spirit  takes  her  flight 
To  where  the  hearth  is  sending 

Around  its  ruddy  light ; 
Where  lips  beloved  are  singing 

Some  old  familiar  strain. 
Oh  !  bark,  speed  on,  light  winging, 

To  those  loved  lips  again  ; 
To  the  heart  its  pure  love  bringing 

To  welcome  ine  again. 


31 


THE    EXILE'S    DREAM. 


N  dreams  beneath  the  evening  star, 

Methought,  I  sate  alone 
In  mine  own  home,  in  lands  afar, 
And  O  !  how  bright  it  shone. 

n. 
Loved  voices  murmured  in  my  ear, 

Like  music  softly  played ; 
And  many  a  kiss,  and  many  a  tear 

Upon  my  cheek  were  laid. 

in. 

I  saw  fond  eyes  look  up  to  mine 

And  folded  to  my  heart, 
Thy  gentle  form,  sweet  wife — 'twas  thine 

From  whom  'twas  death  to  part. 


IV. 

Our  little  children  clasped  us  round, 

And  joyful  danced  and  sung 
"  Our  Father's  come !  our  Father's  found ! '" 

How  sweet  those  accents  rung ! 


The  winds  breathed  soft — the  sun  was  low— 

And  summer  richly  wore 
Her  loveliest  hues,  that  seemed  to  glow 

More  bright  than  e'er  before. 


THE    EXILE'S    DREAM. 


VI. 


How  fresh  the  turf  beneatli  the  tree 
Which  gave  our  cottage  shade, 

Within  whose  porch  I  well  could  see 
The  honest  watch-dog  laid. 


VII. 


The  door  flew  ope — with  joyful  bound 

A  playful  infant  flew, 
Leaped  on  the  dog  and  clasped  him  round- 

My  youngest  boy  I  knew  ! 


VIII. 

I  had  no  words  for  joy  like  this, 
But  tears  in  torrents  spoke ; 

Eager  I  rushed  the  boy  to  kiss, 
And  struggling — weeping — woke. 


24:4:  THE    EXILE'S    DREAM. 

IX. 

Ye  pictured  scenes  of  early  youth, 
Of  childhood,  love,  and  home  ; 

Bright  dreams  of  constancy  and  truth 
Be  with  me  as  I  roam. 


THE    GALE. 


HE  sky  grows  dark — the  sea  runs  high  - 
The  thunder  peals — the  lightnings  fly — 
Clew  down  the  topsails.     Quick  !  'tis  done. 
Lo !  the  dread  gale  comes  roaring  on — 
And  the  top-gallant  masts  are  gone ! 
Oh  God!  that  crash— that  thrilling  cry  ! 
A  man  o'er  board !     Help !     Help !  'tis  nigh — 
Cheer  !     Cheer !  he  swims — a  spar  is  thrown— 
Mess-mate  hold  on  !     Life  !     Hope !     Tis  gone- 
Gone,  with  that  long  distracted  moan  ! 
Down,  down  he  sinks  to  rise  no  more. 
The  waves  with  stern,  defying  roar, 
Dance  madly  o'er  his  struggling  form, 
Drowning  his  voice,  that  'midst  the  storm, 
Rings  mournfully  along  the  sea  : 
*  "  Oh  mother  dear,  thou'lt  weep  for  me  !" 


*  A  fact. 


ARRIVAL. 


ELCOME,  O  land  !  that  bright  and  fair, 

Beams  shining  o'er  the  sea  ; 
"Welcome,  thou  soft  and  scented  air, 
From  meadow,  flower,  and  tree. 

Groves,  hills,  and  vales,  in  sunshine  dressed, 

How  beautiful  ye  seem  ! 
Of  such,  when  rocked  on  ocean's  breast, 

How  oft  hath  been  my  dream. 


The  land  !  the  land  !  we  come  !  we  fly  ! 

How  fair  !  how  fresh,  the  sight ! 
While  seen  afar  against  the  sky, 

Shine  towers  and  turrets  bright. 


AKK1VAL. 


The  whirlwind's  sweep — the  ocean's  roar 

The  shuddering,  shrieking  blast — 

Storms,  winds,  and  waves,  are  feared  no  more, 
The  Haven  dawns  at  last. 


ADORA. 

IN  the  Sculpture  Gallery  at  Chatsworth,  Derbyshire,  the  seat  of 
the  Duke  of  Devonshire,  is  the  statue  of  a  recumbent  Bacchante,  by 
Bartolini  of  Florence,  the  face  and  bust  raised,  and  with  one  hand 
pressed  upon  the  bosom.  By  her  side  lie  a  tambourine  and  some 
flowers,  half  concealing  an  asp.  The  mingled  melancholy,  beauty 
and  grace  of  this  enchanting  statue,  can  never  be  fully  expressed  in 
words.  The  following  lines  faintly  indicate  the  feelings  it  is  calcu 
lated  to  inspire. 


those  meek  imploring  eyes 
What  a  heaven  of  beauty  lies  I 
Fervid  as  the  glowing  skies 
Of  thine  own  land 

Adora ! 

From  those  lips  which  seem  to  say 
Ah,  go  not  yet — not  yet  away— 
Love's  murmuring  music  seems  to  pray 
Impassioned,  fond 

Adora ! 


Thy  looks  proclaim,  what  words  ne'er  tell 
Love's  deep  despair — its  broken  spell, 

Its  charm  dissolved — its  last  farewell 
Still  in  thine  ear 

Adora! 

Image  of  grace !  each  magic  line 
Enchains  the  soul,  and  bids  it  pine 

For  charms  as  matchless — love  like  thine, 
Oh  mournful,  pale 

Adora ! 


IIERRIES !  cherries!  come  with  me 
Beside  the  brook,  beneath  the  tree, 
Where  sunshine  dances  on  the  stream 
And  fishes  through  the  waters  gleam, 
«  Where  all  is  clear,  and  fresh  and  gav, 


A  childhood's  summer  holiday 


Cherries !  cherries !  bird  and  bee, 
Hold  aloft  sweet  jargon  cry, 
Singing  o'er  the  schoolboy's  head, 
As  mounting  high  with  fearless  tread, 
He  plucks  and  eats  with  wasteful  glee, 
The  Ogre  of  the  cherry  tree  ! 


250  »  CHEEKY    TKEE. 

III. 

Cherries  !  Cherries !  clown  they  go ! 
Tossed  upon  his  mates  below — 
Bathing  in  the  streamlet  bright — 
Merrily  as  minnows  light, 
Or  rushing,  roaring,  franticly 
Like  squirrels  up  the  cherry  tree. 

IV. 

Childish  gambols !  pastimes  gay  1 

Rub  not  yet  their  bloom  away — 

Oft  in  life  with  care  o'er-weighed 

They'll  think  of  where  their  childhood  played- 

Will  sigh — again  a  boy  to  be 

In  sparkling  stream  or  cherry  tree. 


CHILD'S    EVENING    PRAYER. 


HEAVENLY  Father !  who  doth  love 
Little  children  when  they  pray, 

Let  my  weakness  pity  move — 
Keep,  oh  keep  me  night  and  day. 


r 


252  CHILD'S    EVENING    PEAYER. 

II. 

I  am  weak,  and  thou  art  strong, 
Let  thy  mercy  me  uphold 

As  a  shepherd  leads  along 
A  little  lamb  into  his  fold. 

HI. 

Make  me  good,  and  make  me  kind- 
Very  gentle  to  the  poor  ! 

And,  oh,  let  me  courage  find 
To  speak  the  truth  for  evermore. 

IV. 

Now  the  sun  is  gone  to  bed, 
And  the  bird  is  in  its  nest, 

Guard,  0  God,  my  little  head, 
When  I  lay  it  down  to  rest. 

v. 
That  to-morrow  I  may  wake 

Full  of  grateful  love  to  thee, 
Hear  me,  Lord  !  for  Jesus'  sake, 

Once  a  little  child  like  me. 


THE    HIGHLAND    REEL. 
AIR—"  Earl  Moira's  Welcome." 


HARK  !  the  pipes  with  lively  sound, 

Set  the  dancers  all  in  motion  ; 
To  and  fro — then  circling  round, 

Swift  and  light  as  birds  on  ocean. 
Now  aloft  their  arms  they  flin<r, 

As  with  transport  light  and  heady ; 
Then  away  with  quivering  spring, 

To  the  music  true  and  steady. 


ii. 


Livelier  to  the  sounding  strain, 
Grows  the  dancing  every  minute ; 

Like  to  an  enchanted  chain 

Young  and  old  are  drawn  within  it : 


254: 


THE    HIGHLAND    EEKL. 


Fathers,  mothers,  granclsires,  all 
Skipping  to  the  lively  measure, 

Heedless  though  sly  glances  fall, 

What  care  they  ?  "Tis  purest  pleasure  ! 


Brightly  gay,  the  tartans  flow, 

Kilts  and  sporrans  wildly  swinging, 
Floating  plumes  are  waving  low, 

Scarfs  their  rainbow  hues  are  flingin* 
Highland  youth,  with  Highland  maid 

Gently  gliding,  lightly  whirling, 
Hand  on  waist  or  shoulder  laid, 

Through  the  magic  mazes  twirling. 


THE    HIGHLAND    KEEL. 
IV. 

Oh  !  the  bonnie  Highland  reel, 

Fling,  Strathspey,  or  Sword-dance  bounding, 
Till  with  loud  and  deafening  peal, 

Through  the  hall  the  March  is  soundinj 
Coyly  sounds  love's  fond  farewell, 

Sparkling  reams  the  foaming  Tassic, 
Gone  is  mirth  and  music's  spell, 

Thine  remains,  Sweet  Highland  Lassie. 


'&• 


SONG    OF    THE    SALMON. 


ING  the  song  of  Salmo  Salar  !* 
Of  the  noble  river-king ! 
Salmo  Salar  !  famed  for  valour, 
Famed  for  love,  I  gladly  sing. 


O'er  Northumbrian  Truttsef  reigning, 
Pike  and  Porpoise  he  defied  : 
With  his  royal  fins  restraining 
The  fierce  Hucho'sJ  greedy  pride. 


*  Salmon. 


f  Truttae,  Trouts. 


\    Uudms,  Bull  Iroutsi 


SONG    OF  THE   SALMON.  257 

III. 

From  Osmurii*  race  descended, 
Warriors  in  their  armour  born. 
By  his  Erioxf  henchmen  tended, 
Who  base  SprodsJ  and  Samlets§  scorn. 

IV. 

Smooth  of  head,  with  jaw  projecting, 
Mort-Jin$  strong  as  lion's  claw, 
Foes  devouring,  friends  protecting, 
Teeth  on  tongue,  as  well  as  jaw* 


Rays  and  spots  (ancestral)  shining, 
Through  his  silvery  armour  glowed  ; 
On  his  anal  fin  declining, 
Thirteen  shadows,  black — abode. 


VI. 

On  his  back,  the  same  dark  omen 
Arabesqucd  in  purply  gold, 
Like  bright  reins  that  did  o'erflow  when 
With  love's  fury  uncontrolled. 


VII. 

Through  the  mighty  rivers  dashing 
To  the  Empress  of  his  soul — 
O'er  the  foaming  torrents  flashing, 
To  her  soft  embrace  he  stole. 


*  That  section  of  the  genus  Salmo  which  have  the  greater  dorsal  and  the  anal  fin  nearly 
opposite. 

f  Grey  Salmon  Trout.  ^  Salmon  of  the  second  year.  §  Young  Salmon. 

|  A  distinguishing  mark  of  a  Salmon  of  the  third  year. 

33 


258  SONG    OF    THE    SALMON. 


Then  in  peaceful  grandeur  gliding 
Slowly  by  her  swelling  side, 
With  his  royal  Gib  providing 
Fitting  place  his  young  to  hide. 

IX. 

Thus  he  lived — the  brave,  the  tender, 
Till  it  fell  upon  a  day, 
Lured  by  fly  of  dazzling  splendour 
He  became  the  Chatto's*  prey. 

x. 

Mourn  !  Sultanas  of  the  waters  ! 
To  the  sea-lute's  tenderest  string 
Teach  your  loveliest  sons  and  daughters 
Salmo  Salar's  praise  to  sing. 

*  \V.  A.  Chatto,  Escj .  author  of  a  Treatise  on  Wood  Engraving,  and  other  works. 


SCOTLAND. 


LESSED  be  the  ancient  mountain  land 
Where  Wallace  led  his  patriot  band  ; 
And  Bruce  waved  high  his  battle  brand, 
For  glory  and  for  Scotland  ! 

To  whose  brown  hills  and  glens  belong 
All  that  most  hallows  tale  and  song ; 
Or  on  its  pinion  bears  along 
The  heart  that  beats  for  Scotland. 


The  deeds  that  wake  the  minstrel's  lyre, 
That  bid  each  noble  thought  aspire  ; 
And  shed  a  glow  of  living  fire 
Around  the  names  of  Scotland. 

Who  reads  upon  the  roll  of  fame 
Of  Lenox,  Douglas,  Maxwell,  Gramc ; 
But  gives  his  worship  to  each  name  ? 
And  breathes  a  prayer  for  Scotland  ! 

Where  yet  the  lonely  mountains  rise 
That  echoed  to  their  warlike  cries, 
Now  tuned  to  happier  melodies, 
From  the  blest  homes  of  Scotland. 


Where  England's  fair  and  Royal  Rose 
In  her  young  beauty  freshly  glows ; 
And  as  a  shield  against  her  foes, 
Bears  the  whole  heart  of  Scotland. 


THE   VOICE    WE   LOYE. 


HE  voice  we  love !  the  voice  we  love ! 
Its  memory  comes  in  lonely  hours, 
Like  angel's  whisper  from  above, 

New  stringing  all  life's  wearied  powers : 
It  haunts  us  still  in  every  clime, 
By  land,  by  sea,  where'er  we  rove ; 
A  charm  that  lives  untouched  by  time, 
The  voice  we  love  !  the  voice  we  love ! 


Through  chance  and  change,  through  good  and  ill, 

Though  all  forsake  and  faithless  prove, 
Yet  ever  true  it  lingers  still, 

The  voice  we  love  !  the  voice  we  love ! 
It  comes  upon  the  wings  of  night, 

Soft  as  the  brooding  mournful  dove, 
Turning  the  darkness  into  light, 

The  voice  we  love  !  the  voice  we  love ! 

If  stricken  down  by  Sorrow's  dart, 

Ah  !  what  can  e'er  such  solace  prove, 
As  that  sweet  music  of  the  heart, 

The  voice  we  love  !  the  voice  we  love ! 
And  when  life's  closing  hour  draws  nigh, 

And  shades  of  death  around  us  move, 
What  blends  with  heaven  our  latest  sigh  ? 

The  voice  we  love !  the  voice  we  love ! 


TO   A   FRIEND    ON   HIS   MARRIAGE. 


S  journeying  through  life's  devious  maze, 
May  joy  attend  ye — happy  days — 

And  friendship  that  endures  : 
Fond  mutual  trust — faith  undecayed — • 
With  every  flower  that  loves  the  shade 

Of  Home — be  yours. 

Content  within  that  hallowed  spot, 
No  early  charm — no  grace  forgot — • 

Long  may  ye  bide  ! 
Each  yielding  to  the  other's  will, 
The  husband,  as  the  lover,  still, 
The  wife — the  bride. 


MAY    TALBOT. 


IS  sweet  Saint  Margaret's  day,  in  July-tide, 

And  through  the  towers  of  Goderich  harpings 

swell, 
For  Talbot's  loveliest  has  become  the  bride 

Of  brave  Holm  Lacey.     He,  as  records  tell, 
Ne'er  sat  but  at  the  solemn  festival, 

Or  wore  a  glove  upon  his  good  right  hand, 
Save  when  in  battle,  or  by  frith  and  fell, 

Him  list  the  chace  to  follow  o'er  the  land, 
With  knights,  arid  barons  bold  beneath  his  high 
command. 


Yet  was  he  gentle ;  such  as  lady's  brow 

Most  smoothly  beams  on ;  and  his  dark  eye's  fire, 

Did  tenderest  thoughts  for  his  young  bride  avow, 
Who  knelt  with  flowing  hair  and  rich  attire, 

Upon  the  Dais,  low,  before  her  sire  : 

While  stately  dames,  and  high-born  nobles  stood. 

With  fair  apparelled  page,  and  gallant  sqnire, 
Ready,  with  casts  of  hawks,  and  kenetts  good 
To  urge  the  flying  prey,  by  forest,  field,  or  flood. 


Now,  to  resounding  harps,  the  minstrels  sung, 

For  with  her  hawk  on  hand,  and  favourite  hound, 

May  Talbot  left  the  halls  where  proudly  hung 
The  glorious  banners  of  her  race  around; 

And,  where  the  huge  portcullis  grimly  frowned, 
She,  and  her  ladies,  leading  each  a  knight, 

Passed  on  in  glittering  pomp,  to  music's  sound, 

With  huntsman,  horse,  and  hound,  for  greenwood  dight, 
Falcons  with  Milan  bells,  gay  hoods,  and  jesses  slight. 


MAY    TALBOT. 

Goderich  !  through  all  thy  courts,  and  lofty  towers, 

Th'  inspiring  bugle  rings  !  Tis  fair  to  see 
Amidst  the  pleached  alleys  and  green  bowers 

The  beautiful,  the  young,  the  brave,  the  free, 
Mirrors  of  knighthood — flowers  of  courtesy 

In  gladness  sporting  o'er  that  pleasauncc  wide, 
By  river,  woodland,  hill,  and  broomy  lea, 

Rousing  the  lonely  heron's  wing  of  pride, 

From  his  green  sedgy  haunts  down  by  the  wild  Wye's  tide. 

Subt'ly,  the  quest-hound  roves  through  bosk  and  brake, 
The  bittern  booms,  the  shrieking  curlew  flies, 

And  their  swift  flight  the  soaring  falcons  take 
To  hold  ambitious  warfare  in  the  skies. 

Low  droops  the  ruffled  plume  no  more  to  rise 
As  with  ensanguined  beak,  and  pinion  spread, 

The  victor  stands  exulting  o'er  his  prize  ; 

While  the  repining  hounds,  in  guardance  led, 
View  the  fierce  Saker*  stand  rejoicing  o'er  his  dead. 

With  her  proud  knight,  May  Talbot  guides  the  rein 
Of  her  white  palfrey  though  the  glades,  where  moss 

And  violets  thickly  spring,  and  woodbines  strain 
Their  slender  arms  to  clasp  the  rose  across  : 

There,  too,  the  deer,  their  branching  antlers  toss, 
And  musical  small  birds  their  love-tales  tell, 

Regardless,  that  beneath  the  maple's  gloss, 
Rings  chime  of  Merlin's  or  of  Tercel's  bell, 
While  echoing  heard  afar,  the  wilder  wood-notes  swell. 

Well  pleased  they  wandered,  leaving  far  behind 

The  sylvan  rout;  their  pastime  to  pursue ; 
Smiling  full  oft,  as  on  the  summer  wind 

Came  blast  of  horn,  and  hunter's  wild  halloo  : 

*  Saker,  one  of  the  hawks  which  a  knight  was  privileged  to  bear. 


MAY    TALBOT. 

Till  from  a  pass,  where  many  a  dark  tree  grew, 

Sprang  forth  a  stately  hound,  who  oft  essayed 
In  vain,  each  art  to  bar  their  progress  through 

The  gloomy  darkness  of  that  omened  shade, 

Then  hung  his  head,  and  howled  ;  yet  followed  close  the  maid. 


The  forest  arches  rose  on  pillars  tall 

Of  sycamore  and  elm,  whose  vistas  grey 
Showed  like  old  cloisters,  at  dim  even-fall. 

Gaily  they  rode,  till  forth  the  quivering  spray 
An  arrow  flew  transpiercing  on  its  way, 

The  good  Goss-hawk  Holm  Lacey's  wrist  did  bear, 
While  scornful  voice  sang  merry  roundelay, 

And  a  bold  archer,  starting  from  his  lair, 

Fled,  and  still  careless  sang,  like  bird  through  summer  air. 

Fiercely  the  knight  pursued  !     His  gentle  bride 

Invoked  ea,ch  saint  against  unholy  charm, 
The  noble  hound  drew  closer  to  her  side ; 

And  then  the  maid  saw  raised,  a  stalwart  arm. 
Closed  in  its  grasp,  she  shrieked  in  wild  alarm, 

Answered  by  her  brave  dog  with  direful  yell, 
And  tiger-spring  ne'er  slacked  till  life-blood  warm 

Crimsoned  the  sod  on  which  the  foeman  fell  : 

Whose  name,  though  noble  once,  it  boots  not  now  to  tell. 


Nor  why  deep  scathe  and  dolour  he  had  vowed, 
Against  Holm  Lacey's  lord,  and  on  that  morn, 

Had  sworn  ere  eve  to  quench  his  spirit  proud, 
And  leave  him,  brideless,  joyless,  and  forlorn. 

Now  in  the  dust,  degraded,  bleeding,  torn, 
He  turns  his  dying  eyes  across  the  plain 

To  see  his  rival's  banner  proudly  borne 
And  he,  th'  avenger  coming  on  amain — 
Downward  he  turns  his  face,  his  eyes  ne'er  ope  again. 


MAY    TALBOT. 

Now  crowns  the  westering  sun  his  beaming  head 
With  all  his  clouds  of  glory  richly  dressed, 

While  Goderich  shows  her  lordly  banquet  spread, 
Where  princely  knighthood  vails  its  lofty  crest, 

And  there,  May  Talbot's  sire  proclaimed  his  hest, 
That  from  that  hour  the  faithful  hound  might  claim 

The  rights  and  honours  of  a  welcome  guest ; 
And  as  a  mark  and  memory  of  the  same, 
Bestowed  on  all  its  race,  the  Talbot's  spotless  name. 


265 


34 


MASK    OF     SHAKESPEARE 


DRAWN   FROM   A   CAST   TAKEX    FROM  THE  MONUMENTAL  BUST    PLACED    ABOVE    HIS    GRAVE,  OX 
THE   WALL   OF   THE   CHURCH   AT   STRATFORD-OX-AVON. 


TO     THE     MEMORY     OF     MRS.     LUTHER     B.     WYMAN 

^=^       AIREST  flower,  so  palely  drooping 
In  the  garden  of  the  dead, 

*  Where  the  giant  trees  are  stooping 

[         Like  dark  mourners  round  thy  bed. 
Thou,  who  late,  so  brightly  blooming 

Is  thy  gentle  life  then  o'er  ? 
All  thy  charms  the  grave  entombing — 

All  thy  love — for  evermore  ? 

-  Can  it  be,  that  hushed  for  ever, 
Thy  sweet  voice  no  more  is  heard  ? 

That  its  tones  again  shall  never 


268  T0    TI1E    MEMORY    OF    MRS.    LUTHER    B.    WTMAN. 

Warble  like  a  plaintive  bird  ? 
And  those  star-like  eyes  bright  beaming, 

Whose  bright  flash  taught  vice  to  quail, 
Now  in  sleep  that  knows  no  dreaming, 

Their  dark  fringes  deeply  veil. 

Highly-gifted,  gentle-hearted — 

Angel-like,  but  woman  still, 
Fondly  loved — thus  early  parted, 

Oft  thy  name  fond  hearts  shall  thrill. 
There  are  thoughts  that  never  perish — 

Bright — unfading — through  long  years  •> 
So  thy  memory  we  cherish, 

Shrined  in  love,  embalmed  in  tears. 

The  last  stanza  is  engraved  on  her  white  marble  tomb,  in  the  Greenwood  Cemetery. 


l_ 


A    MOTHER'S    GRIEF. 


Y  son,  they  tell  me  them  art  dead  ! 

They  bid  me  cease  to  mourn, 
That  all  must  go  where  thou  hast  fled, 

Whence  none  can  e'er  return. 
But  ah  !  how  can  thy  mother's  heart 

Forget  each  look  and  tone, 
Or  hid  the  harrowing  thought  depart 

That  thou  hast  died — alone  ? 


ii. 

A  stranger  in  a  foreign  land, 

With  none  to  soothe  or  cheer, 
To  softly  kiss  the  burning  hand 

Or  wipe  the  falling  tear ; 
To  chase  the  phantom  shapes  that  lour 

Around  the  soul's  release, 
And  midst  the  shadows  of  the  hour 

To  point  the  path  of  peace ; 


in. 

To  hold  the  loved  and  sacred  dead 

In  one  last  long  embrace, 
And  love's  warm  sorrowing  tears  to  shed 

O'er  thy  low  resting-place. 
But  these  denied,  I  inly  mourn 

With  all  a  mother's  woe, 
O'er  him  who  never  can  return — 

My  summer-flower  laid  low. 


270 


A    MOTHER'S    GRIEF. 


IV. 

My  son  !  my  son  !  thy  heart  is  cold, 

Thy  hand  hath  lost  its  skill, 
Yet  one  bright  relic  I  behold 

To  charm  and  soothe  me  still. 
The  emblem*  fair  thy  hand  hath  wrought 

Within  the  sacred  shrine, 
That  blends  in  one  all  powerful  thought, 

Redeeming  love  with  thine. 

The  following  notice  of  liis  death  appeared  in  a  newspaper  of  the 
period : 


'•Died,  at  Panama,  New  Granada,  on  the  15th  nit.  (among  strangers,  and  in  a 
foreign  land),  WILLIAM,  son  of  Wm.  S.  DeZeng.  Esq.,  of  Geneva,  in  the  23d  year  of 
his  age.  Esteemed  and  beloved  by  all  who  knew  him. 

''  Highly  gifted  by  nature  in  mind  and  person,  he  was  never  idle,  but  devoted  his 
solitary  hours  to  the  cultivation  of  a  refined  taste  by  study,  or  aetive  pursuit  of  useful 
knowledge  in  the  arts." 


*  A  Communion  Cup  in  the  Chancel  window  of  Trinity  Church,  Geneva,  in  stained  glass, 
painted  by  the  deceased. 


SORROW. 


JIOU  art  in  thy  grave,  beloved ! 

Thou  art  in  thy  still,  cold  grave — 
Thou  canst  not  hear  though  wild  winds 

meet — 
And  tempests  round  thee  rave. 

I  think  on  thy  smile,  beloved  ! 

On  the  light  of  thy  beaming  eye, 
On   the    cheek   that  once  so   brightly 

blushed, 
On   the    voice    whose    music    now    is 

hushed, 
In  the  last  long  struggling  sigh. 


272 


BORROW. 

Shall  I  mourn  thy  doom,  beloved  ? 

Or  grieve  thou'rt  freed  from  pain  ? 
Ah  no  !  my  soul  to  heaven  shall  turn, 
With  hopes  that  ever  fondly  yearn 

To  clasp  thee  there,  again. 


THE   SOLDIER'S   GRAVE. 

SOFT  be  the  soldier's  sleep,  and  sound, 
Who  dies  upon  the  battle-ground, 

Amidst  the  fallen  brave. 
Struck  down  in  honour's  bright  career 
With  name  unsullied,  wept,  and  dear, 

How  blest  his  glorious  grave  ! 

For  him  the  heart's  best  tears  are  shed, 
Its  holiest  prayers  to  heaven  are  said, 

And  his  fair  memory  dwells 
Immortally,  for  ever  bright, 
'Midst  those  with  triumph  and  delight 

A  grateful  nation  tells. 

What,  though  his  ashes  slumber  not 
In  some  old  feudal  charnel  spot ! 

Earth  owns  no  nobler  bier 
Than  the  red  ridge,  where  round  him  lie, 
The  flower  of  England's  chivalry, 

No  prouder  sepulchre ! 


35 


A  LEGEND  OF  AN  OLD  SCOTTISH  CASTLE. 

ABOUT  a  mile  and  a  half  from  the  famous  "  Bridge  of  Earn,"  and' 
about  five  miles  from  Perth,  stands  an  ancient  castle;  a  lofty  hill 
rises  immediately  behind  it,  and  a  thick  wood  of  very  aged  trees* 
encircles  its  ancient  walls.  In  former  days,  it  possessed  strong  flank 
ing  buttresses  and  watch-towers,  together  with  a  moat,  barbican, 
drawbridge,  and  other  warlike  defences  peculiar  to  the  feudal 
strongholds  once  so  numerous  in  Scotland.  Although  often  modern 
ized,  the  strength  and  importance  of  the  original  structure  are  suffi 
ciently  evidenced  in  the  massive  square  tower  which  still  remains,  as 
well  as  the  ponderous  fragments  scattered  around.  The  drawbridge 
is  now  gone,  and  the  moat  partially  filled  up,  but  several  pieces  of 
cannon  indicate  it  to  have  been  formerly  fortified,  its  last  warlike 
demonstration  occurring  probably  in  the  time  of  Cromwell.  The 
principal  entrance  is  through  the  large  square  tower  above  men 
tioned,  whose  apartments  hung  with  arras,  and  furnished  with  a 
variety  of  antiquated  household  articles  and  ornaments  of  various 
kinds,  all  wear  that  air  of  mournfulness  and  gloom  common  to  ancient 
dwellings  in  decay  ;  the  windows  are  all  secured  by  bars  of  iron ; 
those  of  the  staircase  having  evidently  served  for  guns.  A  large 
picture-gallery,  filled  with  old  portraits,  tends  greatly  to  enhance  the 
interest  attached  to  this  venerable  edifice,  forming,  as  such  relics 
ever  do,  one  of  the  most  touching  links  between  the  present  and  the 
past.  The  top  of  the  tower,  which  is  furnished  with  a  bartizan  and 
port-holes,  commands  a  widely  extended  view  of  Strathearn,  the 
valley  of  Glen-Dearg,  and  the  long  low  pastoral  range  of  the  Ochil 
Hills ;  from  this  elevated  position,  while  the  eye  takes  in  delight 
from  a  thousand  sources,  the  ear  distinguishes  no  sound  save  the 
incessant  cawings  of  the  rooks  in  the  tree-tops,  which  form  as  it  were, 
an  ocean  of  dark  and  heaving  foliage,  extending  far  and  wide,  and 
ever  resounding  with  this  melancholy  clamour.  From  this  tower, 
the  remains  of  orchards,  pleached-bowers,  ancient  gardens,  with  a 


A    LEGEND    OF    AN    OLD    SCOTTISH    CASTLE.  275 

sparkling  burnie  running  through  the  midst,  and  other  vestiges  of 
former  pleasures  joined  to  the  features  previously  described,  com 
plete  a  scene  full  of  interest  to  those  who  love  to  muse  on  varying 
fortunes — proud  names  sunk  in  oblivion,  and  great  houses  fallen  to 
decay ;  leaving,  as  in  the  present  instance,  but  little,  save  a  floating 
legend,  or  "  grey  superstition  "  to  recal  their  former  inhabitants. 

Here,  in  the  year  of  grace,  1396,  lived  its  owner,  Sir  Alureth,  of 
that  Ilk,  who  with  a  strong  arm,  a  stout  heart,  and  a  considerable 
body  of  retainers,  led  a  bold  baronial  life,  but  little  fettered  by  the 
restraints  of  law  or  gospel ;  holding  in  his  own  hand,  as  he  was 
wont  to  boast,  the  reins  of  three  counties,  Perth,  Fife,  and  Kinross ; 
to  each,  and  all  of  which,  he  was  a  most  unruly  and  unquiet  neigh 
bour  ;  his  old  strong  fortalice,  with  its  formidable  surroundings,  being 
in  close  proximity,  indeed,  almost  treading  as  it  were,  on  their  very 
skirts ;  while  his  forays,  spreaths,  spuilzies,  and  harryings,  with  the 
reprisals  consequent  thereon,  kept  the  whole  region  round  about  in 
a  continual  state  of  activity  and  alarm.  Luckily,  however,  for  those 
who  suffered  by  his  molestations,  Sir  Alureth  was  in  the  habit  of 
making  frequent  incursions  into  foreign  lands  ;  taking  with  him  the 
most  turbulent  and  daring  spirits  he  could  muster,  leaving  behind 
him  a  halcyon  period  of  repose,  only  to  be  abruptly  broken  by  his 
ever  hasty  and  unannounced  return,  which,  in  its  startling  effect, 
might  be  compared  to  the  pounce  of  a  hawk,  on  the  feathered  inhabit 
ants  of  the  barn-yard. 

On  one  of  these  occasions,  he  was  accompanied  by  a  foreign 
lady,  to  whom  under  circumstances  of  extraordinary  and  romantic 
peril  he  had  been  united  while  abroad,  and  wrho  only  lived  long 
enough  to  make  him  the  father  of  a  daughter,  who,  as  infancy  merged 
into  girl-hood,  bloomed  wild  and  beautiful  as  the  name  by  which  she 
was  distinguished :  Erica,  the  Heath-bell  of  Strathearn.  As  the 
shepherd  tends  and  cherishes  some  motherless  cade-lamb ;  as  the 
gardener  watches  night  and  day  the  unfolding  of  some  choice  rose; 
so  did  the  fond  father  wratch,  and  almost  worship  the  fair  and  beam 
ing  creature  who  grew  beneath  his  eye,  and  with  tendril-like  tena 
city  \vound  herself  around  his  stubborn  heart  till  she  had  made  it  all 


276  A    LEGEND    OF    AN    OLD    SCOTTISH    CASTLE. 

her  own  ;  till  the  parent  might  be  said  to  live  but  in  his  child.  In 
truth,  she  was  very  lovely ;  regular  in  feature,  with  large  blue  eyes, 
shaded  by  long  lashes,  wavering  locks  of  glossy  black,  lips  exquisitely 
rose-leaved  in  their  enchanting  hue  and  curve,  a  neck  and  throat 
round  and  white  as  that  of  Aphrodite  herself,  and  a  form  whose 
graceful  and  elastic  symmetry  allured  the  eye  by  the  unconscious 
charm  which  accompanied  every  movement.  Nor  was  the  jewel 
unworthy  of  its  casket.  It  was  that  rare  and  precious  gem — a  pure 
and  delicate,  yet  most  warm  and  generous  woman's  heart ;  full  of 
kindly  affections,  of  gentle  charities  and  sweet  humility.  Those  who 
remembered  her  Italian  mother,  detected  not  a  shade  of  resemblance 
in  the  daughter ;  still  less,  could  a  likeness  be  traced  to  the  fierce 
and  stalwart  Sir  Alureth,  as  with  the  air  almost  of  a  fair  spirit,  she 
hovered  around  him  in  all  his  avocations ;  in  joy  and  sorrow,  sick 
ness  or  health,  his  never  failing  resource  and  constant  companion. 
The  household  of  Sir  Alureth,  with  the  exception  of  fighting-men, 
hunters,  herdsmen,  and  menials,  consisted  besides  himself  and  daugh 
ter,  of  but  four  persons :  a  young  protege,  an  ancient  priest,  and  still 
more  ancient  housekeeper  and  nurse.  Of  these,  first  in  rank  but 
youngest  in  years,  was  Orthon  Munro,  a  wild  and  headstrong  cadet 
of  the  Clan  Foulis,  placed,  according  to  the  fashion  of  the  age,  in 
the  household  of  a  superior  chief,  there  to  imbibe  those  soldierly  and 
gentlemanly  accomplishments  which  should  hereafter  win  him  honor 
as  a  knight,  tres  hardi,  sans  peur  et  sans  reproche.  Humour  had  long 
assigned  him  to  the  beautiful  Erica  as  her  allotted  bridegroom ;  but, 
though  the  youth  had  been  her  playmate  from  infancy,  and  was  in  all 
respects  treated  by  Sir  Alureth  as  his  son,  yet,  in  the  minds  of  both 
father  and  daughter,  there  existed  a  very  different  degree  of  regard  to 
that,  which  would  be  conceded  to  one  who  should  be  deemed  worthy 
to  possess  the  hand  and  heart,  of  the  fairest  and  best  dowered  heiress 
in  Strathearn.  Orthon,  however,  thought  differently.  Being  inor 
dinately  vain,  and  rather  good-looking,  in  spite  of  hair  of  a  fiery 
redness,  and  an  awkward  way,  when  in  conversation,  of  never  allow 
ing  his  eye  to  meet  that  of  the  person  he  addressed,  he  conceived,  it 
impossible  that  a  young  girl  of  seventeen  could  be  daily  and  hourly 


A    LEGEND    OF  AN    OLD    SCOTTISH    CASTLE.  277 

in  his  society  without  loving  him  ;  and  though  he  could  not  call  to 
mind  any  instance  on  the  part  of  Erica  which  particularly  evinced 
decided  partiality,  yet  he  satisfied  himself  by  complacently  saying 
to  himself,  "  Poor  thing,  she  is  but  a  girl,  a  mere  child  of  seventeen, 
while  I  am  a  man,  actually  twenty,  nineteen  and  a  half  at  least,  and  that 
is  all  the  same  ;  so,  of  course,  though  she  is  not  loving  and  all  that  in 
outward  show,  she  feels  it  I  have  no  doubt."  Thus  reasoned  Orthon, 
well  pleased  not  only  to  listen  to  every  inuendo  which  took  the  colour 
of  his  own  wishes  in  this  respect,  but  to  convey,  as  far  as  in  him 
lay,  the  same  impression  to  others.  In  consequence  of  this,  when 
Sir  Alureth  publicly  announced,  that  he  had  chosen  for  the  bride 
groom  of  his  daughter,  Azzo  Visconti,  a  young  Milanese  knight,  with 
whom  he  had  become  acquainted  in  one  of  his  foreign  expeditions — 
Rumour,  with  her  thousand  tongues,  proclaimed  Orthon  an  ill-used 
man — a  victim  to  family  pride  and  female  fickleness.  Totally  uncon 
scious  of  the  havoc  he  had  already  committed  on  the  young  man's  feel 
ings,  Sir  Alureth  soon  afterwards  took  him  into  council  on  the.  best 
mode  of  doing  honour  to  his  intended  son-in-law,  whose  arrival  he 
wished  not  greatly  to  precede  the  day  of  the  nuptials,  an  event  he  had 
determined  to  solemnize  with  great  splendour  and  solemnity  on  the 
ensuing  vigil  of  our  Lady,  which  in  that  year  fell  on  August  loth. 
Stunned  and  bewildered,  the  unhappy  youth  was  totally  at  a  loss  for 
reply;  when  he  did  so,  it  was  in  a  strain  to  which  Sir  Alureth  was 
but  little  accustomed.  A  torrent  of  reproach,  supplication,  invec 
tive  :  a  maddened  appeal — and  amid  a  shower  of  fiery  tears,  an 
indignant  farewell.  Great  was,  the  astonishment  of  Sir  Alureth,  and 
it  was  with  some  natural  fear  as  to  the  manner  in  which  Erica  would 
receive  the  intelligence  he  had  to  convey,  that  he  entered  her  apart 
ment.  "  Come  hither,  love,"  said  he,  taking  a  seat  in  the  deep  embra 
sure  of  one  of  the  windows,  at  the  same  time  drawing  her  towards 

O 

him,  still  retaining  her  hand  in  his  own.  "  What  dost  thou  think 
should  be  the  conduct  of  thy  father  towards  one  who  hath  used  to 
him  such  words  as  these  ?"  He  then  narrated  the  violent  tirade  which 
had  just  fallen  from  the  lips  of  Orthon.  Erica  listened  with  anxiety 
and  agitation.  "  Those  were  the  words  of  Orthon,"  said  she.  "  I  know 


278  A    LEGEND    OF    AN    OLD    SCOTTISH    CASTLE. 

none  else  who  would  have  had  the  hardihood  to  utter  such  in  thy 
presence  ;  but  why,  my  father,  were  they  spoken?"  "Listen,  Erica," 
said  her  father ;  "  thou  knowest  the  engagements  which  subsist  between 
the  Visconti  and  myself;  the  promise  that  our  children  should  be 
united,  as  the  seal  of  our  mutual  amity,  and  lifelong  friendship ;  and  it 
was  but  in  reply  to  my  request  that  he  would  help  me  to  receive 
Azzo,  who  will  be  here  anon,  in  a  proper  manner,  that  Orthon  dared, 
thus "  cur-like,  to  bite  the  hand  that  fed  him.  But  thou  hast  not 
answered  my  question,  how  should  such  an  offender  be  treated  ?" 
Erica  hesitated.  "  Child,  child,"  cried  her  father  hastily,  "  do  not 
arouse  my  anger  by  saying  thou  lovest  the  varlet.  Oh,  I  should  go 
mad,  mad !  to  think  of  such  a  downfall  to  my  hopes,  not  only  for 
myself,  but  for  thee."  "Be  satisfied  on  that  point,"  replied  the 
maiden,  with  a  slight  touch  of  pride  in  her  look  and  accent.  "  Orthon 
is  headstrong,  furious  and  selfish— I  may  have  reasoned  with  him, 
even  pitied  him,  when  he  has  at  times  suffered  for  his  misconduct, 
but  as  for  loving  him— oh  no,  that  is  impossible." 

"Now  by  my  halidome  this  is  well,"  rejoined  Sir  Alureth.  u  O, 
Erica,  the  life  thou  received  from  me  thou  hast  returned  seventy -fold 
during  the  short  term  thou  hast  been  on  earth.  Was  ever  father  so 
blest  as  I?"  He  then,  while  entering  on  the  particulars  of  Azzo's 
intended  visit,  impressively  bade  her  remember  that  the  Italian 
character,  even  when  possessing  the  noblest  and  highest  qualities,  is 
yet  prone  to  jealousy  and  revenge;  warning  her  at  the  same  time, 
with  unwonted  solemnity,  to  beware  of  giving  occasion  for  either. 
For  a  few  days  all  was  joyful  hurry  and  preparation,  and  the  evening 
of  the  third  had  deepened  into  night,  when  every  arrangement  being 
complete,  an  unwonted  tumult  in  the  court  announced  the  arrival  of 
the  expected  guests.  Erica's  heart  failed  her ;  regardless  of  what 
might  be  thought  of  her  conduct  by  the  assembled  company  who  had 
been  convened  to  welcome  the  noble  stranger— regardless  of  every 
thing  but  the  desire  to  escape  from  what  seemed  to  her  excited  fancy 
an  ordeal  impossible  to  endure,  she  fled  to  the  top  of  the  towrer,  and 
for  a  few  moments,  with  burning  cheeks,  and  heart,  beating  as  if  it 
would  burst  from  its  confinement,  stood  gazing  on  the  moon  which 


A    LEGEND    OF    AN    OLD   SCOTTISH    CASTLE.  279 

in  resplendent  fulness  slied  its  dazzling  light  on  all  around ;  tlien 
hastily  traversing  the  leaded  roofs,  from  time  to  time  as  she 
approached  the  battlements,  cast  furtive  glances  on  the  court  below. 
All  there  was  bustle  and  confusion  ;  figures  passed  to  and  fro  from  the 
drawbridge  to  the  gates,  and  one  form  more  proud  and  stately  than 
the  rest,  she  was  at  no  loss  to  recognise  as  that  of  her  betrothed,  from 
whom,  with  a  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling,  she  now  accused  herself 
of  having  ignominiously  absconded  ;  determined  to  atone  for  her 
folly,  she  was  about  to  descend  the  stairway  of  the  tower,  when  face 
to  face,  almost  falling  into  his  arms  in  the  surprise  of  encountering 
him  so  unexpectedly  in  her  descent,  she  found  herself  alone  with 
Azzo  Yisconti.  More  beautiful  in  form  and  face  than  remembrance 
or  description  had  ever  given  her  an  idea  of,  but  with  a  wildness  of 
eye,  and  melancholy  expression  of  countenance  which  seemed  singu 
larly  inappropriate  and  ominous  in  a  betrothed  lover  at  the  triumph 
ant  moment  of  claiming  his  future  bride.  Fixing  his  glorious  dark 
eyes  with  a  kind  of  despairing  energy  upon  the  moon,  he  pressed 
his  hands  to  his  forehead,  then  wildly  throwing  his  arms  upward,  he 
cried :  "  Forgive  me,  Heaven ;  save  me  from  this  great  sin  if  it  be 
possible  !"  Meantime,  Erica  fearing  she  knew  not  Avhat,  but  resolved 
if  possible  to  ameliorate  the  mental  agony  under  which  he  laboured, 
calmly  and  with  dignity,  at  once,  simple  and  self-possessed,  approached 
the  parapet  against  which  he  leaned,  and  gently  as  she  would  have 
addressed  the  dying,  said :  "  Tell  me  your  grief,  if  it  be  such  as  a 
sister  may  share,  and  sharing,  pity  and  console — then  I  will  be  your 
sister,  and  you  shall  be  my  brother — my  only  brother,  for  none  I 
ever  had — will  you  ?"  continued  she  pleadingly.  A  moment's  pain 
ful  pause  succeeded;  Erica  trembled,  fearing  she  had  said  more  than 
maiden  modesty  would  excuse,  when  Azzo,  turning  towards  her, 
displayed  a  countenance  no  longer  wild  and  agonized,  but  full  of 
tenderness  and  •admiration,  while  in  his  eyes,  tears,  in  spite  of  evident 
efforts  to  repress  them,  gathered  full  and  fast;  bending  his  knee 
before  her,  he  saluted  her  hand  as  in  the  act  of  homage  to  a  sove 
reign.  The  young  girl  felt  reassured,  and  with  no  witness  save  the 
moon  and  stars,  gave  him  that  pure  and  consecrated  offering,  the  first 


2SO  A    LEGEND    OF    AN    OLD    SCOTTISH    CASTLE. 

kiss  of  love,  reciprocated  by  mutual  lips  that  vowed  unto  each  other 
fidelity  unto  death. 

On  arriving  at  the  foot  of  the  stone-steps  of  the  tower,  it  excited 
no  surprise  in  the  mind  of  Erica  to  behold  seated  there  in  a  crouching 
attitude,  her  old  nurse,  Elsie,  whose  doleful  and  questioning  counte 
nance  aiforded  convincing  proof,  had  any  doubt  been  entertained  on 
the  subject,  that  she  had  been  a  concealed  witness  of  the  preceding 
interview,  and  had  heard  every  word  of  their  short,  but  most  agi 
tated  conversation  :  giving  her  a  bright  look  of  happiness,  Erica  passed 
on,  leaving  the  old  \voman  sorely  perplexed,  muttering  to  herself, 
uWeel,  weel,  may  be  it's  a'  richt,  but  I  sairly  jalouse  he's  a  bee  in 
his  bonnet  for  a'  that." 

It  was  a  proud  moment  for  Sir  Alureth,  as  amidst  the  blaze  of 
lights,  the  sound  of  minstrelsy,  and  the  congratulations  of  his 
assembled  friends,  the  young  betrothed  couple,  hand  in  hand,  en 
tered  the  banquet-room.  Magnificently  attired,  with  conscious 
happiness  beaming  in  their  faces,  and  meeting  on  every  side  com 
pliments  and  good  wishes,  they  gained  the  side  of  Sir  Alureth, 
who  placing  one  on  either  hand  proceeded  to  do  the  honours  of  his 
house  right  well  and  courteously;  his  old  steel  morion  and  buff  jer 
kin,  bullet-proof — exchanged  for  ample  garments  of  great  price  and 
costly  workmanship;  and  his  speech  neatly  filed  of  its  blunt  soldier- 
phrases  to  suit  the  bevy  of  fair  dames  around  him — not  perhaps 
wholly  unconscious  that  many  a  long-necked  spinster  remarked  in  a 
manner  that  might  perhaps  accidentally  reach  his  ears,  "Hech,  sirs! 
Sir  Alureth's  no  that  auld  ;  he's  a  fine  man  yet !"  Happiness  is  a  great 
beautifier,  and  the  old  knight  was  happy.  It  also  is  one  of  the  most 
sovereign  philtres  for  rejuvenescence,  and  therefore,  there  might 
possibly  be  as  much  truth  as  flattery  in  the  remark.  Be  it  as  it  may, 
that  night  was  to  Sir  Alureth  the  golden  fulfilment  of  the  ambitious 
hopes  of  long  preceding  years,  and  he  revelled  with  a  sense  of 
triumph  he  had  never  experienced  before.  After  the  removal  of  the 
tresselled  boards  on  which  the  feast  had  been  served,  the  evening 
wore  away  in  all  those  changes  of  pleasure  and  pastime  for  which 
the  festivals  of  the  olden  time  were  especially  famous  ;  but  to  the 


A    LEGEND    OF    AN    OLD    SCOTTISH    CASTLE.  28 1 

lieart  of  Erica  the  crowning  joy  of  that  entertainment  was  not  the 
splendour  of  the  festival,  the  praises  she  had  heard  lavished  on 
her  beauty,  nor  even  the  adoring  love  of  her  betrothed — it  was  com 
prised  in  one  short  sentence  from  the  lips  of  her  father,  who  when  she 
was  retiring  for  the  night,  followed  her  to  the  door  of  her  chamber, 
and  folding  her  in  his  arms,  said  tenderly,  "  God  bless  my  good  and 
dutiful  daughter !" 

On  entering  her  usually  peaceful  apartment,  she  was  surprised  to 
find,  instead  of  its  customary  aspect  of  modest  stillness  and  exact 
order,  a  wilderness  of  silks  and  satins,  velvets  and  laces,  all  shin 
ing  under  the  blaze  of  many  lamps  and  cressets,  while  the  bed, 
couches,  chairs,  and  other  articles  of  furniture  were  covered  with  mag 
nificent  dresses  and  ornaments,  the  gifts  and  offerings  of  her  father, 
lover,  and  friends.  As  she  examined  the  rich  and  delicate  textures 
of  various  costly  fabrics,  and  noted  how  carefully  to  each  was 
appended  some  playful  or  affectionate  reminder  of  the  giver,  her 
heart  swelled  with  delight,  and  casting  a  glance  on  the  mirror  she 
smiled  ;  gazing  a  moment,  and  smiling  still,  at  the  blooming  image — 
so  much  more  bright  and  buoyant  than  she  usually  saw  reflected 
there.  While  thus  occupied,  a  flower,  thrown  by  some  hand  from 
without,  fell  flattering  beside  her ;  deeply  blushing,  raising  the 
flower  to  her  lips,  "  It  is  one  of  Azzo's  graceful  Italian  gallantries," 
thought  she ;  u  he  told  me  a  folded  rose  should  ever  be  the  lover's 
good-night  token."  On  surveying  the  flower  more  attentively  a  slip 
of  paper  was  observable  amid  its  petals :  she  unfolded  it  with  eager 
has*c  and  heightened  colour,  that  suddenly  faded,  leaving  lip,  cheek, 
and  brow  pale  as  the  milk-white  rose  she  held  in  her  hand ;  hurriedly 
glancing  around  the  apartment,  to  assure  herself  that  she  was  alone, 
she  plucked  apart  the  petals  of  the  rose,  and  tearing  the  paper  into 
minute  atoms  cast  them  from  her  with  scorn  and  disgust ;  as  she  did 
so,  a  rustling  of  the  ivy  which  wreathed  the  lattice  attracted  her  atten 
tion  towards  it,  and  in  the  next  moment,  Orthon  stood  before  her. 

Too  shocked  to  speak,  Erica  could  only  look  at  him  with  terror- 
starting  eyes,  and  a  resolute  and  imperious  motion  of  the  hand  as  if 
to  command  him  out  of  her  sight.  "  I  understand  you,"  said  lie 

36 


282  A    LEGEND    OF    AN    OLD    SCOTTISH    CASTLE. 

insolently;  "but  at  present  you  command  in  vain;"  so  saying  he 
approached  the  lattice,  carefully  closed  it,  and  drew  over  it  the 
crimson  curtains,  which,  on  account  of  the  heat  of  the  weather,  had 
not  yet  been  drawn.  Indignation  succeeded  to  terror  in  the  mind  of 
Erica;  she  beheld  in  Orthon  no  longer  the  playmate  of  her  youth, 
but  the  ruffian  intruder  on  the  sanctity  of  her  chamber,  and  in  a  voice 
almost  shrill  in  its  proud  haughtiness,  she  commanded  him  to  be  gone. 
"  How  dare  you  intrude  into  this  apartment?  at  such  an  hour  as  this, 
too,"  continued  she,  her  tone  becoming  more  vehement  as  the  lateness 
of  the  hour  impressed  upon  her  mind  the  impropriety  of  the  present 
interview.  Folding  his  arms,  and  standing  with  his  shoulders  lean 
ing  against  the  wall,  he  looked  fixedly  on  her  face,  with  a  malignant 
scowl,  and  then  with  a  sweeping  scornful  glance  at  the  articles  of 
luxury  and  elegance  profusely  scattered  around.  "  Erica,"  said  he 
passionately,  "  I  wished  to  see  you  once  more  ;  there  was  no  other  way 
than  this  ;  I  have  perilled  my  life,  and  this  is  my  reward."  "What 
reward  did  you  dare  to  expect?"  cried  the  trembling  Erica.  "  You  say 
you  have  perilled  life  by  coming  here  ;  have  you  not  perilled  more 
than  life  of  mine,  my  honor  and  good  name,  by  thus  presuming 
unbidden  to  enter  my  chamber  at  midnight?  Heavens!"  said  she, 
shuddering,  u suppose  any  one  saw  you  enter  by  that  window; 
close  it  too — and  thus  remain  !"  "  Make  yourself  easy,"  replied  he, 
carelessly;  "  in  a  castle  so  filled  with  gay  ladies  and  brave  gallants,  it 
would  have  seemed  no  such  uncommon  thing  for  a  lover  to  scale  his 
ladye-love's  windows."  "Lover!"  cried  Erica;  "well  do  you  know 
that  your  own  vanity  alone  could  ever  make  you  imagine  you  ever 
were,  or  ever  could  be  lover  of  mine."  "  You  are  very  lofty  and  proud, 
Erica ;  but  I  shall  coolly  finish  my  sentence,  notwithstanding.  I  was 
going  to  say,  that  even  as  I  did  enter  I  saw,  if  1  mistake  not,  a  muf 
fled  cavalier  bent  on  a  similar  errand  to  my  own.  Some  window 
near  this,  I  presume,  contained  his  treasure."  Erica  grew  faint  with 
terror.  "  Leave  me,"  cried  she,  "  I  feel,  I  know  not  what  of  horror  and 
presentiment.  Leave  me,  I  conjure  you  !  my  good  name,  my  happi 
ness  is  gone  for  ever,  should  this  idle  curiosity  of  yours  have  had  any 
witnesses."  "Curiosity!"  said  the  youth,  indignantly;  "curiosity 


A    LEGEND    OF    AN    OLD    SCOTTISH    CASTLE.  283 

call  you  it?  It  is  love!  Erica,"  cried  he,  casting  himself  at  her 
feet,  "it  is  distracted,  devouring  love  !  O  Erica,  forgive  me,  angel; 
I  would  not  willingly  injure  you  for  all  this  world." 

The  unfeigned  anguish  which  spoke  in  every  working  feature 
touched  the  heart  of  Erica,  while  a  remembrance  of  his  impetuous, 
thoughtless  character,  pleaded  strongly  in  extenuation  of  his  fault. 
"No,  no!"  said  she,  more  kindly,  "I  forgive  you,  Orthon;  I  do  not 
think  you  would  wound  me  intentionally."  "  Now  I  recognise  Erica 
once  more.  Ah!  Erica,  you  were  a  real  Pythoness  just  now.  Come,'1 
said  he,  tenderly,  "he  mine,  instead  of  giving  yourself  to  a  vile 
foreigner ;  those  Viscontis  are  bad  fellows  all — real  cut-throats,  and 
besides."  added  he  with  seriousness — "they  do  say  Azzo  at  times  is 
not  quite  right  here  (touching  his  forehead);  moon-struck,  you  know. 
(Erica  shuddered.)  Cast  him  off,  dear,  good,  sweet  Erica,  and  take 
an  honest,  hardy  Highlander,  instead.  I  have  men,  money,  and 
horses  at  command,  and  in  some  of  those  distant  lands  that  your 
father  loves  to  gallop  about  in  so,  never  fear  but  I  will  soon  win  you 
a  station  far  more  honourable  than  this  Milanese  bravo,  or  any  of 
his  kith  or  kin  can  ever  aspire  to."  The  passion  of  his  looks,  no 
less  than  the  audacity  of  his  words  during  the  latter  part  of  this 
tirade,  displeased  and  disgusted  her  to  whom  it  was  addressed. 
"  You  have  mistaken  me,  as  much  as  I  have  misunderstood  you," 
said  she  coldly.  "  I  must  beg  of  you  instantly  to  retire,  or  I  shall 
summon  my  father."  "  Do !"  said  he,  fiercely  ;  "  finish  your  work 
by  all  means  ;  it  would  be  as  well  to  fall  by  his  hand  as  by  that  of 
another."  At  this  moment  steps  in  the  adjoining  corridor  arrested 
his  attention  ;  Erica  wrung  her  hands  in  agony,  while  Orthon,  after 
a  moment's  uncertainty,  retreated  to  the  lattice,  and  casting  himself 
headlong  from  it,  flew  along  the  garden.  As  soon  as  he  was  gone, 
Erica  flung  herself  on  her  couch,  overcome  by  a  tide  of  emotions  ; 
among  which  a  sense  of  wounded  delicacy,  a  fear  of  evil  report,  were 
predominant ;  should  any  one  have  seen  the  entrance  or  exit  of  the 
intruder,  what  horror  might  be  the  result — and  then,  the  steps  in  the 
corridor — perhaps  a  listener,  who,  after  having  heard  all,  was  then 
departing  to  spread  his  baleful  report.  "  Surely,  surely  not,"  cried 


A  LEGEND  OF  AN  OLD  SCOTTISH  CASTLE. 

she  ;  "  perhaps  it  was  my  father — yet  no  !  he  would  have  slain  him  on 
the  spot.  O,  for  a  counsellor  in  this  hour  of  need  !"  Suddenly,  a 
ray  of  consolation  beamed  over  the  chaos  of  her  thoughts  ;  and  with 
a  whispered  expression  of — "  Yes,  it  must  and  could  have  been  only 
Father  Uvias,  the  good  priest,  on  his  return  from  the  convent  ;  to 
him  I  will  fly,  and  entrust  the  whole  to  his  averting  hand."  She 
then  endeavoured  to  compose  her  agitated  thoughts,  and  gliding 
along  the  gallery,  soon  reached  the  little  room  on  the  leads  which 
formed  his  cell ;  when,  having  fully  detailed  the  event  which  had 
given  her  so  much  pain,  and  received  his  consoling  assurances 
that  he  would  effectually  ward  off  any  evil  that  might  accrue,  she 
regained  her  apartment,  and  throwing  herself  on  her  bed  was 
soon  wrapt  in  the  deep  sleep  of  youth  and  innocence.  Her  father 
was  less  fortunate  ;  for  more  than  an  hour  after  the  last  guest  had 
departed,  he  continued  to  pace  the  long  picture-gallery,  at  whose  far 
thest  extremity  was  a  central  archway,  with  a  flight  of  steps  descend 
ing  to  his  bed-chamber.  Lighted  by  four  long  and  extremely  narrow 
lancet  windows,  deeply  set  in  the  thickness  of  the  wall,  the  gallery 
was  gloomy  in  the  extreme,  redeemed  from  darkness  only  by  the 
trembling  lines  of  moonlight  that  piercing  transversely  through  them, 
rested  in  flickering  rays  upon  the  old  portraits  that  gazed  coldly  down 
from  the  walls ;  save  these,  and  the  form  of  Sir  Alureth  himself,  cast 
ing  huge  shadow  as  he  paced  backwards  and  forwards,  no  other  object 
was  visible,  the  gallery  presenting  the  appearance  of  a  dim  and  length 
ened  platform,  whose  extremities  were  lost  in  darkness.  From  time 
to  time,  Sir  Alureth  paused  in  his  meditative  walk  before  one  or  other 
of  the  windows,  and  looked  upon  the  silent  gardens  below,  bright 
and  tranquil  beneath  the  light  of  a  full  harvest  moon.  All  nature 
slept ;  apparently,  not  a  leaf  stirred  :  the  sobbing  sough  of  the  night 
wind,  as  it  swept  over  the  pine-forest  which  surrounded  the  castle, 
and  the  murmuring  flow  of  distant  streams,  were  the  only  sounds 
that  rose  and  fell  on  the  silence,  their  continuous  monotony  only 
deepening  the  impression  of  profound  repose.  Although  the  most 
unimaginative  of  men,  Sir  Alureth  was  nevertheless  struck  with  the 

o 

solemnity  and  unearthly  appearance  of  a  scene,  all  of  whose  features 


A    LEGEND    OF    AN    OLD    SCOTTISH    CASTLE.  285 

by  day  were  so  pleasant  and  familiar ;  the  white  balustrades,  sur 
mounted  by  balls  and  spires,  contrasting  with  sepulchral  effect  the 
numerous  trees  of  juniper,  pine,  holly,  yew,  and  other  hardy  ever 
greens,  which  it  had  been  the 'pleasure  of  the  gardener  to  transform 
into  monstrous  shapes  of  men,  animals,  birds,  and  fishes  which,  gro 
tesque  and  whimsical  by  day,  amidst  verdant  slopes  and  quaint  par 
terres  of  many-coloured  flowers,  had,  when  surrounding  objects  were 
reduced  to  the  sombre  hues  and  rigid  outlines  of  night,  an  effect  at 
once  uncouth,  startling,  and  melancholy.  "  Detestable !"  muttered 
Sir  Alureth,  as  he  turned  away  and  resumed  his  walk  through  the 
gallery  ;  u  'tis  like  a  Turkish  burial  ground."  His  brain  worked 
busily,  schemes  of  future  aggrandizement  presented  themselves  in 
quick  succession  to  his  imagination,  and  a  bright  future,  of  which  the 
wealthy  marriage  of  his  daughter  was  but  the  stepping-stone,  dis 
played  itself  before  him  in  the  most  tempting  colours.  "  Perseve- 
rando,"  thought  he ;  "  my  old  motto  may  be  nobly  worked  out  yet. 
I  am  but  iu  the  prime  of  life  ;  another  bride,  perchance,  than  the  one 
who  will  shine  here  to-morrow,  may  again  grace  these  old  walls." 
The  bell  of  a  neighbouring  convent  tolling  the  second  hour  after  mid 
night,  roused  him  from  his  abstraction.  u  So  late !"  said  he,  in  a 
dreamy  undertone;  u  what  shadows  we  pursue!"  As  he  uttered 
these  words,  he  descended  the  steps  at  the  end  of  the  gallery ;  and 
passing  through  the  short  vaulted  passage  which  formed  the  entrance 
to  his  bedchamber,  betook  himself  to  repose.  But  the  perturbed 
spirit  revolted.  It  ran  riot  midst  hair-breadth  escapes,  and  wild 
adventures  which  he  had  experienced  in  other  years  ;  through  flood 
and  fire,  amid  ruined  towns  and  blazing  castles,  whose  wretched  in 
habitants  in  every  variety  of  horror  and  suffering  were  mingled  with 
himself  and  his  martial  companions.  Throwing  back  the  curtain,  he 
gave  a  rapid  glance  around  ;  the  moonlight  stole  fitfully  through  the 
apartment,  gleaming  and  glittering  on  cuirasses  and  helmets,  parti- 
zans  and  broadswords  ;  bringing  out  in  bold  relief  the  grotesque 
sculptures  of  the  corbelled  ceiling,  and  flinging  long  sweeps  of  wavy 
light  on  the  tapestried  walls  and  shining  floor  of  polished  oak,  cold 
and  glassy,  dimly  reflecting  the  several  objects  which  it  supported. 


286 


A    LEGEND    OF    AN    OLD   SCOTTISH    CASTLE. 


"  Am  I  never  to  sleep  ?"  cried  Sir  Alureth,  as  he  threw  himself  again 
on  his  pillows,  and  tossed  uneasily  from  side  to  side,  striking  angrily 
as  he  did  so  the  sides  of  his  bed,  a  cumbrous  structure,  whose  elabo 
rate  carving  now  gilded  by  the  glimmering  moonlight,  made  it  seem 
like  some  old  monument,  from  which  its  ghastly  tenant  was  endea 
vouring  to  escape.  Dragging  over  him  for  the  thousandth  time,  the 
disordered  coverings,  and  clutching  a  falling  pillow,  he  buried  his 
face  upon  it,  as  if,  by  excluding  external  objects,  to  conquer  the 
strife  within.  With  a  muttered  anathema,  he  cast  it  from  him  ;  and 
assuming  his  usual  position,  gazed  steadfastly  at  the  richly-painted 
window  opposite  the  foot  of  his  bed,  where,  amid  scriptural  figures 
whose  draperies  exhibited  those  gorgeous  tints  for  which  the  ancient 
artists  were  so  famous,  was  blazoned  amidst  a  circle  of  oak  leaves,  his 
black,  counter-embattled  cross,  with  its  dagger- crest,  and  indomitable 
motto. 


A   LEGEND    Otf    AN    OLD    SCOTTISH    CASTLE.  287 

The  contemplation  of  this  object,  so  dear  to  his  proud  heart, served 
to  restore  him  to  composure  ;  continuing  fixedly  to  regard  it,  his  fea 
tures  became  placid,  his  weary  eyelids  closed,  and  at  length  he  slept ; 
how  long,  he  knew  not ;  when  he  awoke  it  was  with  a  start.     A  low, 
moaning  sound  seemed  to  issue  from  the  tapestry,  and,  to  his  surprise 
and  alarm,  a  female  figure  slowly  emerged  from  beneath  it,  and  re 
mained  crouching  upon  the  ground  in  one  corner  of  the  apartment : 
her  head  bowed  upon  her  knees,  her  long  white  arms  bare,  nerveless 
and  drooping,  the  hands  folded  and  prostrate  in  desolate  abandon 
ment  ;  her  face  entirely  concealed  by  the  falling  forward  of  the  long 
dark  hair,  which  covering  her  like  a  veil,  rested  in  dishevelled  masses 
on  the  floor,  where  it  lay  mingled  with  the  folds  of  her  dress,  which 
was  white  and  shroud-like.      As  Sir  Alureth  gazed  at  the  prone  and 
motionless  form,  it  was  with  indescribable  horror  that  he  perceived 
a  motion,  as  of  life,  beneath  its  loose  and  floating  garments  impelling 
it,  though  still  in  a  grovelling  attitude,  with  a  slow  and  undulating 
movement,  nearer  and  nearer,  till  almost  close  to  his  bedside.   Power 
less  to  move  or  speak,  with  eyes  dilated  to  the  utmost,  he  watched  it 
approach;  when,  while  in  the  act  of  hovering  above  him  as  if  to  en 
close  him  in  its  long  white  arms,  he  perceived  beneath  the  dark 
shadowy  arch  formed  by  its  wavy  hair,  a  dull,  watery-looking  like 
ness  of  his  Erica.     Uttering  her  name  with  a  cry  of  anguish,  he  sank 
back,  shrinking  and  shuddering  ;  his  eyes  riveted  on  the  phantom, 
which  slowly  melted  from  his  gaze.     The  moon,  which  had  long  been 
wading  through  clouds,  suddenly  withdrew  its  light,  and  he  was  left 
in  total  darkness  ;  large  drops  stood  upon  his  brow  ;  his  heart  beat 
loud  and  irregularly.     All  at  once,  there  rose  upon  the  air  the  soft 
ened  chaunt  of  the  nuns  of  the  neighbouring  convent,   singing  the 
Hymn  to  the  Virgin  :  sweet  and  clear  as  angels'  voices  it  penetrated 
his  inmost  soul,  and  a  prayer,  the  first  since  a  child  at  his  mother's 
knee,   was   tremblingly   uttered   for   the  welfare  of  his    daughter. 
The  first  ray  of  dawn  was  now  apparent  in  the  sky,  he  could  hear 
afar  the  sounds  of  rustic  labour  ;  and  half  ashamed  both  of  his  ter 
rors  and  of  his  piety,  lie  composed  himself  to  rest,  and  slept  soundly. 
When  he  awoke,  the  remembrance  of  what  he  considered  a  fantasy  or 


288  A    LEGEND    OF    AN    OLD    SCOTTISH    CASTLE. 

waking  dream  had  completely  lost  its  power  over  him.  "  It  was  all 
owing  to  those  villainous  new-fangled  French  wines,"  said  he  to  him 
self  ;  u  a  quaigh  of  honest  Glenlivat  would  never  have  stuffed  me  with 
such  horrible  vapours."  Attiring  his  still  handsome  person  in  the  most 
becoming  manner,  he  went  forth,  a  smiling  host,  to  do  the  honours  of 
his  house  on  what  he  called  the  proudest  day  of  his  life. 

The  morning  rose  bright  and  beautiful :  all  nature  smiled,  as  if  in 
honour  of  the  nuptials.  At  an  early  hour  there  wTas  not  a  closed  eye  in 
the  castle — all  was  life  and  movement,  bustle  and  activity ;  the  pre 
cincts,  too,  exhibited  an  unwonted  degree  of  animation  :  bands  of  vil 
lagers  in  their  gayest  apparel,  with  armed  retainers, stout  varlets,  idlers, 
and  loungers  of  every  class,  sex,  and  age,  assembled  on  the  most  con 
venient  spots  for  obtaining  a  view  of  the  marriage  procession,  which 
was  expected  to  issue  from  the  castle  gates  about  an  hour  before  noon 
tide.  The  hearts  of  the  young  were  especially  buoyant,  all  their  best 
feelings  and  sympathies  being  enlisted  on  the  occasion,  in  consequence 
of  thefalse  rumours  which  had  gone  abroad, concerning  the  compulsion 
which  had  been  used  to  induce  the  gentle  Erica  to  accept  the  hand 
of  the  young  Italian  nobleman,  even  while,  as  the  said  rumour  loudly 
declared,  her  affections  were  given  solely  to  Orthon.  Dark  inuendoes 
were  mysteriously  circulated  concerning  the  means  employed  by  Sir 
Alureth  to  extort  her  consent,  some  averring  that  a  drawn  dagger  had 
actually  been  the  argument  aimed  at  her  by  that  fierce  and  intracta 
ble  personage  ;  others,  that  the  victim  had  actually  been  chained  for  a 
whole  night  in  the  dungeon  of  the  castle.  These,  and  other  figments 
equally  ridiculous  had  invested  the  ceremony  with  no  little  interest, 
and  all  were  anxious  to  catch  a  view  of  the  bride,  in  order  to  judge  for 
themselves  how  she  looked  after  such  an  extraordinary  mode  of  woo 
ing.  Meanwhile,  the  sun  was  shining  on  her  closed  eyelids,  over 
which  her  superstitious  old  nurse,  Elsie,  was  making  an  airy  sign  of  the 
cross,  mumbling  at  the  same  time  some  intricate  rhyme,  the  burden  of 
which  was,  "unto  our  Lady  and  sweetSaint  John" — the  names  of  other 
saints  being  also  plentifully  invocated.  While  thus  occupied,  Erica 
awoke,  sighing  heavily  ;  experiencing  that  terrible  depression  which 
those  who  lie  down  after  great  sorrow  so  often  feel  on  awakening : 


A    LEGEND    OF    AN    OLD    SCOTTISH    CASTLE.  289 

nevertheless,  she  smiled,  and  passing  her  hand  caressingly  over  the 
furrowed  brow  and  wrinkled  cheeks  of  the  old  nurse  whose  whole  life 
had  been  a  slavery  of  love  to  herself  and  family,    "  I  feel  ill,"  said 
she  to  the  attached  old  creature.    "  I  cannot  arise  yet,  Elsie."    "  Get 
up,  dearie  ;  it's  the  nasty  saft  pillow.      My  auld  pow  wad  ache  for  a  • 
month  an'  mair,  if  I  cushioned  it  e'en  o'  ane  feather — muckle  waur 
I  trow,  smoor'd  up  wi'  thousands."   Erica  laughed.    "  It's  a'  true,  lam- 
mie ;  an  ye'd  ne'er  sifficate   yoursel  wi  'em  ony  mair  gif  ye  ance 
pried  a  bunch  o'  green  bracken,  or  a  shook  o'  bonnie  heather  wi'  the 
blooms  on't."     Erica  sighed.     "  What  for  gie  ye  sic  a  peeh,  dearie? 
it's  ainly  an  auld  dodder'd  fule  like  mysel  suld  pech  an  grane  ;  a  lassie 
at  yere  age  suld  be  a'  smiles  an'  squeels."     "  Help  me  to  rise,  you  talka- 
tive  old  darling,"  said  Erica ;  "  the  sound  of  your  bonnie  kind  voice 
always  cheers  me."  "  Ay,  ay,  lovey,  gif  your  auld  noun-ice  disna  ken 
how  to  gabble  for  her  child's  gude,  mair's  the  pity  ! "     While  thus 
prattling  to  her  nurse,  a  band  of  maidens,  attired  in  the  trimmest  Scot 
tish  fashion,  with  short  tartan  skirts  and  boddices,  their  shining  hair 
confined  by  snoods  of  the  most  showy  colours,  and  carrying  baskets 
of  flowers  in  their  hands,  assembled  on  the  terrace  immediately  be 
neath  her  window,  singing  a  simple  and  joyous  strain  in  honour  of 
her  whom  they  called  the  Heath-bell  of  Strathearn.   The  air,  in  parts, 
was  soft  and  plaintive,  murmuring  away  until  nearly  lost;  then  sud 
denly  bounding  back  again  with  that  delicious  wildness  which,  like 
fairy  footsteps,  flits  in  and  out  amid  the  melodies  of  Scotland.    "  Oh, 
that  I  were  dressed,"  said  Erica ;  u  I  would  go  down  and  thank  them." 
"Ne'er  fash  yoursel,  my  dault,  about  the  likes  o'  thae  hissies,"  said  Elsie. 
"  Ye'll  see  'em  a'  sune  eneuch  mopping  and  mowing  afore  the  hufes 
of  the  naigs  as  ye  gang  to  the  kirk  the  day ;  I  heerd  'em  say  sae  my 
sel."     In  spite  of  this  disparaging  remark  on  the  "  hissies,"  as  Elsie 
irreverently  termed  them,  Erica  sprang  to  the  window  and  looked 
into  the  garden  ;  it  presented  a  gay  and  lively  scene  :  the  younger 
portion  of  the  guests  being  dispersed  throughout  its  whole  extent,  con 
gregated  in  large  or  small  groups,  sauntering  in  pairs  or  apart,  wander 
ing  whithersoever  they  listed,  amid  a  scene  rendered  thrice  beautiful 
by  their  presence,  as  blithely  carolling  or  gaily  bounding  they  indulg- 

37  " 


290  A    LEGEND    OF    AN    OLD    SCOTTISH   CASTLE. 

ed  in  all  the  light-hearted  effervescence  of  youthful  happiness.  "While 
Erica  gazed  with  sparkling  eyes  on  this  charming  scene,  a  figure,  tall, 
graceful,  and  richly  habited,  enchained  her  whole  attention.  It  was 
Azzo  Visconti : — alone,  and  apparently  in  deep  thought,  he  followed 
the  course  of  a  little  streamlet  which  flowed  through  the  lower  part 
of  the  garden,  almost  encircling  in  its  winding  arms,  an  ancient  yew 
tree  bower  so  thickly  woven  with  roses  and  climbing  plants  as  to  be 
impervious  to  sun  or  rain — a  dim  retreat  even  at  noon-day.  It  was 
evident  that  he  shunned  the  many- coloured  garments  and  waving 
plumes  that  fluttered  amid  the  shady  bosquets  and  flowery  margined 
lawns,  by  finally  entering  the  secluded  bower,  from  which,  although 
Erica  wraited  a  considerable  time,  and  with  an  anxiety  for  which  she 
could  not  account,  in  the  hope  of  seeing  him  re-appear,  he  did  not 
again  emerge.  Stifling  a  sigh  of  disappointment,  she  bade  Elsie  sum 
mon  the  well-pleased  and  busy  handmaids  of  the  toilette,  and  aided  by 
their  skilful  and  willing  hands,  was  soon  arrayed  in  the  spotless  attire 
destined  for  the  occasion.  Over  her  rich  white  silken  robe  and  tunic 
hung  a  mantle  of  silvery  white  gauze,  thin  and  transparent  as  a  moon 
beam,  to  which  were  attached  long  drooping  sleeves  of  green  velvet 
fringed  with  gold,  giving  inexpressible  richness  and  relief  to  the  other 
parts  of  her  dress,  which  were  ail  of  snowy  whiteness,  while  on  her  long 
dark  locks  a  wreath  of  mingled  heather-bells  and  white  lilies,  com 
pleted  a  costume  as  singular  as  it  was  elegant.  "  Come,  come ! 
Erica,"  cried  the  impatient  voice  of  Sir  Alureth,  as  he  lifted 
the  tapestry  from  the  doorway,  and  led  her  over  the  threshold  to 
the  head  of  the  great  stairs.  Here  he  paused,  and  surveyed  her 
from  head  to  foot.  "  Thou  art  very  beautiful,  my  good  and  dutiful 
child,"  said  he;  "  may  God  bless  thee,  as  I  do."  She  would  have 
embraced  him,  but  resuming  his  usual  stern  and  stately  bearing,  he 
led  her  by  the  hand  into  the  hall  crowded  with  guests,  whose  admira 
tion  of  the  beautiful  vision  presented  to  them  was  expressed  in 
audible  murmurs.  While  the  servants  and  villagers,  who  had  forced 
themselves  into  the  hall  and  gallery  by  which  it  was  surrounded, 
broke  forth  into  cries  of,  "  God  bless  the  young  Leddie  ;  she's  as 
good  as  she  is  handsome"—  with  a  thousand  other  homely,  but  affection- 


A    LEGEND    OF    AN    OLD   SCOTTISH    CASTLE.  291 

ate  marks  of  the  esteem  and  love  with  which  she  was  regarded. 
The  eyes  of  her  Italian  lover  were  fixed  upon  her  with  a  dark 
and  suspicious  gaze  ;  she  returned  the  glance  with  one  of  so  much 
innocent  alarm  and  wounded  feeling,  that  in  a  moment  he  was  at 
her  side,  her  hand  fondly  pressed  in  his,  while  rapidly,  in  an  under 
tone,  he  exclaimed : — 

"  Oh,  Erica  !  since  I  last  saw  thee  I  have  been  mad  !  mad  with 
love  and  jealousy !  Tell  me  truly,  art  thou  the  innocent  and  pure 
Erica  I  have  thought  thee  ?  or  am  I  of  all  men  most  accursed  ?  Speak ! " 
said  he,  drawing  her  aside  behind  a  column.  She  placed  her  hand 
upon  her  bosom,  and  looking  upward  softly  and  devoutly,  sighed, 

"  I  am  most  innocent.  Never  have  I  done  aught  against  thee, 
that  could  be  construed  into  wrong.  If  thou  thinkest  otherwise, 
proclaim  it  before  these  witnesses  ;  God,  and  they  shall  be  my  judges." 
The  solemnity  of  her  manner  and  words  deeply  affected  Azzo,  he 
was  greatly  agitated.  Erica,  on  the  contrary,  was  calm.  An  idea 
had  flashed  through  her  mind  that  he  had  seen,  or  been  informed 
of  the  intrusion  of  Orthon  into  her  chamber  on  the  preceding  eve 
ning,  and  she  determined  that  at  the  first  opportunity  she  would  dis 
close  to  him  the  full  particulars  of  that  most  rash  and  untimely 
visit.  At  the  present  moment  it  was  impossible ;  but  in  the  assevera 
tion  she  had  made,  she  trusted  her  lover  would  find  sufficient  ground 
for  hope  and  confidence. 

"I  live  again,"  said  he.  "  Oh,  Erica,  my  heart  is  bound  up  in 
thy  love ;  without  it  I  wish  not  to  live."  Clasping  her  hand,  and 
looking  into  her  eyes,  that  sparkled  through  glad  tears,  he  added, 
"  You  forgive  me,  Erica  ?" 

"  Oh  yes  !  more  than  forgive  you,"  replied  she. 

"  I  know,"  rejoined  he,  with  a  melancholy  gaze,  "  you  would  say 
you  pity  me.  Is  it  not  so  ?" 

Erica  blushed  while  she  replied,  "  If  you  think  I  ought  to  have 
said  so,  it  would  not  become  me  to  contradict  you."  "  If,  instead  of 
pity,  I  might  read  a  dearer,  tenderer  word,  should  I  be  wrong  ?"  said 
he.  She  blushed — trembled — and  though  her  lips  uttered  not  the 
coveted  word,  yet  while  gazing  on  her  glowing  countenance  the 


292  A    LEGEND    OF    AN    OLD    SCOTTISH    CASTLE. 

heart  of  her  lover  returned  to  its  rest,  and  his  jealous  and  exacting 
spirit  was  for  the  moment  satisfied. 

At  this  moment,  with  loud  and  joyful  swell,  the  family  march 
resounded  from  the  gallery  overhead,  filling  the  hall  with  its  martial 
and  inspiring  strains,  and  two  pipers,  fine  old  Highlanders,  with  white 
hair  streaming  from  beneath  their  bonnets  upon  their  broad  shoulders, 
their  pipes  decorated  with  streamers  of  the  gayest  lines,  and  their  erect 
and  powerful  frames  clothed  in  that  most  magnificent  of  all  costumes, 
the  national  garb  of  Scotland,  their  bonnets  adorned  with  the  badge 
of  their  lord,  made  with  proud  and  stately  step  the  circuit  of  the  as 
semblage,  who  formed  themselves  into  lines,  while  Sir  Alureth,  ad 
vancing  to  Erica,  led  her  to  the  entrance,  the  whole  of  the  company 
closing  upon  their  steps  in  processional  order,  through  the  court  and 
over  the  drawbridge  to  the  open  space  beyond,  where,  attended  by 
lackeys,  pages,  and  serving  men,  a  noble  train  of  chargers,  light- 
pacing  jennets,  and  ambling  palfreys,  splendidly  caparisoned,  await 
ed  their  approach.  After  mounting  these,  the  whole  splendid  caval 
cade,  through  flower-strewn  paths  and  with  music  sounding,  rode 
beneath  the  forest  boughs  to  the  ancient  church  crowning  the  hill 
behind  the  castle ;  which,  richly  decorated  with  tapestries  and  flow 
ers,  sent  forth  the  solemn  swell  of  holy  chaunt  and  priestly  voices. 

On  entering  the  sacred  edifice,  the  festive  strains  became  in 
stantly  stilled,  and  supported  by  her  father,  the  bride  stood  before 
the  altar,  the  bridegrooru  on  her  left,  and  the  gorgeously-attired 
assemblage,  comprising  some  of  the  noblest  and  loveliest  of  Fife- 
shire  and  the  adjacent  counties,  ranged  around;  while  ever  and 
anon,  the  solemn  sound  of  sacred  music  mingled  with  the  deep 
chaunt  that  accompanied  it,  re-echoed  through  the  aisles.  Sud 
denly  it  ceased,  the  voice  of  Father  Uvias  alone  was  heard,  followed 
by  the  subdued  responses  of  the  youthful  pair  who  knelt  before 
him,  and  the  rite  was  concluded  in  the  most  auspicious  manner. 
Returning  to  the  castle  in  the  same  imposing  array  in  which  it 
had  set  forth,  the  gay  bridal  march  was  only  dissolved  at  the  en 
trance  of  the  great  hall,  where  a  banquet,  such  as  would  be  termed 
in  these  days  truly  royal,  awaited  their  presence,  enlivened  with 


A  LEGEND  OF  AN  OLD  SCOTTISH  CASTLE.  293 

minstrelsy,  whose  strains,  vehemently  renewed  at  the  entrance  of 
every  fresh  course,  were  mingled  at  the  close  by  the  clatter  of  stoups 
and  flagons,  the  clinking  of  cups,  and  vociferous  drinking  of  healths 
to  the  bride  and  bridegroom.  To  this  succeeded  the  merry  dance,  the 
masque,  the  interlude,  with  a  variety  of  other  amusements,  sports, 
and  pastimes,  kept  up  with  so  much  zeal  and  spirit,  that  when  the 
evening  sun  was  flaunting  his  crimson  banner  on  the  battlements  of 
the  castle,  leaving  the  golden  shadow  of  his  sandals  on  the  tops  of  the 
ancient  pine-trees,  and  making  the  garden  and  its  adjoining  pleas- 
ance  a  perfect  fairy-land  of  illusions,  there  were  none  who  came  forth 
to  gaze  upon  it,  save  two,  the  young  Yisconti  and  his  beautiful  bride. 

Hand  in  hand  they  came  smiling  upon  the  terrace,  struck  silent 
with  delighted  awe  at  the  sublime  magnificence  of  the  scene  before 
them.  Far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  mountain  and  valley,  tower  and 
town,  hamlet  and  river,  in  endless  combinations  of  beauty  and 
grandeur,  were  clothed  in  hues  of  fire  and  purply  gold,  melting  and 
fading,  even  while  they  gazed,  into  spaceless  masses,  indistinct  and 
shadowy,  with  spectral  hosts  ofrisingvapours,  that,  curling  and  wind 
ing  through  the  straths  and  glens,  heralded  the  mellow  march  of 
twilight.  They  spoke  not,  but  their  hands  were  clasped  more  closely, 
they  looked  at  each  other  with  such  looks  as  lovers  only  give,  and 
descending  the  steps  of  the  terrace,  wandered  amidst  the  fragrant 
flowers  and  shining  herbage  of  the  esplanade  below. 

"  Gather  me  some  of  your  favourite  flowers,  Erica,"  said  her  bride 
groom,  "  and  I  will  keep  them  in  remembrance  of  our  wedding-day." 
Erica's  eyes  swam  in  happiness,  as  she  eagerly  began  her  delightful 
task,  while  he,  throwing  himself  on  the  grassy  slope  beside  her, 
watched  her  graceful  movements.  "  How  still  everything  is,"  said 
she  ;  "  the  ripple  of  the  brook,  and  the  singing  of  birds  we  cannot  see, 
are  the  only  sounds  excepting  those  of  our  own  voices."  "  Ho! "  cried 
he,  suddenly  springing  up,  and  looking  towards  the  sky,  "who  can 
have  released  my  peregrine  falcon  ?  There  she  goes  !  I  would  not 
lose  her  fora  thousand  crowns.  Stay  here,  dearest,  for  one  moment; 
I  am  sure  she  will  come  back  to  my  signal ;  she  is  so  perfectly 
trained."  "  Fly  !  fly  !"  cried  Erica  gaily.  "  A  trophy  shall  await 


294:  A    LEGEND   OF    AN    OLD    SCOTTISH    CASTLE. 

your  return ;  a  wreath  for  the  victor,  and  chains,  flowery  chains,  for 
the  captive."  Bounding  forward,  he  soon  gained  the  extremity  of 
the  garden,  whence  he  had  the  satisfaction  to  behold  his  favourite 
bird,  who  perversely,  however,  refused  to  settle  on  his  wrist,  decoy 
ing  him  by  gentle  flights  from  tree  to  tree  to  the  entrance  of  the 
forest,  As  Erica  watched  his  pursuit  of  the  capricious  falcon,  a  low 
laugh  from  some  one  close  at  hand,  made  her  start,  and  emerging 
from  behind  a  clump  of  hollies,  Orthon  stood  before  her.  "Don't 
be  alarmed,  pray,"  said  he,  mortified  at  her  evident  annoyance  ;  "  1 
merely  wished  to  say  good-bye,  and  to  ask  your  pardon  for  last  night's 
intrusion."  "  O,  I  forgive  you  entirely,  but  pray  do  not  remain,"  said 
she  .hurriedly,  at  the  same  time  looking  anxiously  around ;  "  I  beg 
you  will  not ;  you  do  not  know — indeed — pray,  Orthon — consider— 
"  Don't  look  so  dreadfully  frightened,  Erica,"  said  he  ;  "your  beloved 
and  noble  lord  is  entirely  out  of  sight  and  hearing,  if  that  can  give 
you  any  satisfaction.  I  let  his  falcon  loose  on  purpose.  I  was  deter 
mined  to  see  you  once  more  before  I  left  Scotland  for  ever."  "  You 
are  going  then,  are  you  ?  "  said  Erica.  "  Have  I  not  said  so  ?"  replied 
he  pettishly.  "  You  are  very  glad  to  hear  it,  I  perceive,  and  I  am 
sorry  that  I  told  you  ;  however,  I  came  in  good  faith,  as  I  have  just 
said,  to  beg  your  forgiveness,  for  last  night,  you  kno\v,"  said  he, 
provokingly  pointing  to  the  window  he  had  entered.  "Never  mind," 
said  Erica ;  "  don't  point ;  somebody  may  see  you,  and  wonder  what 
we  are  talking  about."  "Great  treason,  certainly,"  exclaimed  he, 
recklessly  switching  off  the  heads  of  some  beautiful  carnations  Erica 
was  stooping  to  gather.  "  By  the  way,  Erica,  you  may  give  me  that 
nice  posy  for  a  keepsake  ;  I  have  nothing  in  the  world  of  yours,  and  it 
seems  a  little  hard  that  you  have  no  old  glove,  or  tippet,  or  any  trifle 
to  give  me  for  a  remembrance  ;  for  though  you  have  bow-stringed  me 
in  a  cruel  manner,  I  shall  always  love  you,  Erica,  far  better  than  that 
fine-scented  popinjay  ever  will,  he  who  has  just  left  you  to  chase  a 
carrion  hawk."  "Your  tongue  takes  its  liberty  as  usual,  Orthon; 
but  as  we  are  now  about  to  say  farewell,  I  will  not  complain." 
"  You  are  in  a  great  hurry  to  get  rid  of  me,"  said  he.  "  Well,  be  it 
so,  but  have  you  no  souvenance  for  my  helmet  ?"  Erica  shook  her 


A    LEGEND   OF    AN    OLD    SCOTTISH    CASTLE.  295 

head.  "Ah!"  said  lie  sighing,  though  his  manner  was  mocking  and 
bitter, — "shake  hands;  I  believe  it  is  time  to  go.  I  see  a  black  head 
with  its  frightful  curls  at  no  great  distance !"  "Where?  where?" 
gasped  Erica  breathlessly.  "  Oh,  a  good  way  off  yet ;  don't  be 
alarmed.  Come,  shake  hands  and  good-bye;  I  will  really  go  now." 
"  Do !  do !"  said  Erica,  holding  out  her  left  hand,  the  right  being 
filled  with  flowers.  "  Not  worthy  even  of  common  courtesy !" 
said  he  ;  "the  left  hand  !"  "Take  the  right,  then,"  said  Erica;  "I 
meant  no  offence."  "  No,  no,  Erica  ;  I  prefer  your  wishes  to  my  own ; 
the  left  will  do  for  me."  So  saying,  he  grasped  it  with  more  than 
friendly  earnestness,  retaining  it  even  when  Erica  would  have  with 
drawn  it,  with  a  lingering  forcefulness  that  alarmed  her.  "  See  !  " 
said  she  ;  "  oh  heavens  !  Azzo  is  passing  the  sun-dial ;  I  see  him,  close 
bv  the  garden  wall ;"  and  drawing  her  hand  away,  she  ran  from  her 
tormentor  in  a  direction  opposite  to  the  one  in  which  she  had  seen 
Azzo,  anxious  if  possible  to  gain  a  few  moments  to  compose  her  spirits, 
whose  agitation  she  felt  assured  would  attract  his  immediate  notice. 
The  yew-tree  bower  was  nigh  at  hand  ;  she  ran  forward  and  threw  her 
self  on  one  of  its  rustic  benches  almost  breathless.  "  I  feel  like  a 
hunted  hare,  coward  that  I  am,"  thought  she ;  "  but  I  am  glad  I 
came  here ;  it  is  so  quiet.  I  feel  better  already,  and  what  roses  ! 
oh  if  I  could  but  reach  that  beauty  ;  but  I  am  afraid  it  grows  too 
high."  As  she  made  the  attempt,  a  thorn  entered  her  hand,  and 
she  perceived  for  the  lirst  time  that  it  was  gloveless,  and  without 
the  wedding  ring !  Shocked  beyond  the  power  of  control,  she  burst 
into  tears.  "  What  shall  I  do  ?  what  shall  I  do  ?"  cried  she,  wringing 
her  hands,  heedless  of  the  flowers  she  had  so  carefully  gathered,  which 
now  were  scattered  at  her  feet.  "What  will  Azzo  think?"  Com 
pletely  overcome,  she  shrank  into  the  deepest  shade  of  the  bower, 
pressing  her  hand  to  her  eyes,  and  endeavouring  to  form  some  plan 
to  obviate  his  displeasure.  The  ring  was  antique  and  peculiar,  a 
valued  heir-loom,  which  she  knew  he  regarded  with  almost  supersti 
tious  reverence.  The  loss  was  irreparable.  A  faint  hope  that  she  had 
dropped  it  in  the  garden  was  bitterly  chased  away,  by  the  remem 
brance  of  the  strong  pressure  and  forcible  retention  of  her  hand  by 


A  LEGEND  OF  AN  OLD  SCOTTISH  CASTLE. 

Orthon,  who  she  felt  assured  had  drawn  oft*  her  glove  when  she  made 
her  escape  from  him,  together  with  the  ring,  which  being  much  too 
large  for  her,  had  doubtless  accompanied  it,  "  Oh,  if  it  may  but  have 
fallen  on  the  flower-bed,"  was  her  last  hope.  She  flew  to  the  spot. 
Alas !  there  was  no  trace  of  it,  and  truly  miserable,  she  regained  the 
bower,  now  sombre  in  the  deepening  shades  of  twilight,  where  Azzo 
a  moment  afterwards  rejoined  her. 

u  Tears !  Confusion !  what  is  this  ?"  said  he,  in  a  voice  so 
changed  that  she  could  hardly  believe  it  the  same  which  so  lately 
had  been  melody  itself.  "  Why  do  you  weep  ?"  "  Do  not  ask  me," 
cried  she  ;  "  I  am  overwhelmed,  and  know  not  Avhat  to  reply." 
"  May  I  not  know  the  cause  ?"  said  he.  "  You  grieve  as  if  you  had 
lost  some  great  treasure — some  dear  friend,  perhaps !  Methought  I 
had  a  distant  glimpse  of  such  an  one  hastily  leaving  the  terrace 
where  I  last  saw  you.  Am  I  right  ?  was  it  so  ?  Speak  !"  said  he, 
imperiously.  "  I  saw  and  spoke  to  some  one,"  said  Erica,  trem 
bling  ;  "  but  not  to  a  dear  friend."  "  What  was  the  motive  of  such 
a  meeting  ?  at  such  a  time,  too,  and,  if  I  err  not  greatly,  with  the 
same  person  who  last  night— ay,  tremble  !  'tis  fitting  thou  shouldst 
— entered  thy  chamber,  drew  the  curtain  close,  and  in  thy  company 
poured  forth  his  baleful  tale  of  treacherous  love.  Lost,  guilty 
Erica  !"  continued  he  ;  "  I  thought  thee  purer  than  the  snow  of  thine 
own  Scottish  mountains — yea,  thought  so,  even  until  this  hour  ;  be 
lieving  too  credulously  thy  angel  voice  and  looks,  when  in  the  hall 
thou  charmed  away  my  doubts  and  promised  explanation.  Give  it 
now.  Oh,  clear  thyself,  and  make  me  happy.  If  thou  canst,"  said  he, 
passionately,  "  I  will  wash  thy  feet  with  tears.  Speak  to  me,  Erica." 
She  took  his  hands  between  her  own,  she  kissed  them,  she  pressed 
them  fervently,  and  with  a  holy,  sweet  simplicity  told  him  word  for 
word  all  that  had  passed  between  herself  and  Orthon  in  his  two  last 
interviews,  appealing  to  the  testimony  of  Father  Uvias,  which  would 
amply  corroborate  her  statement  Azzo  appeared  to  muse,  with 
closed  eyes,  from  which  every  now  and  then  tears  struggled  and 
fell.  Erica  wiped  them  away  with  her  handkerchief ;  she  parted  the 
dark  curls  from  his  agitated  brow,  and  gently  encircled  him  with 


A    LEGEND    OF    AN    OLD    SCOTTISH    CASTLE.  297 

her  arms,  as,  falling  on  her  knees  before  him,  she  said,  "  Oh,  Azzo, 
you  do  not  think  me  capable  of  wishing  to  deceive  you  ?"  "  No, 
no  !"  said  he,  faintly  ;  "  but  it  seems  so  strange  that  if  your  feelings 
were  so  uninterested  in  this  youth,  the  sorrow  for  his  departure 
should  be  strong."  "  I  sorrowed  not  for  him,  believe  me,  Azzo  ;  it 
was  for  a  loss  totally  unconnected  with  him ;  it  was  something  far  more 
precious  to  my  thought.  I  dare  not — dare  not  tell  it  you,"  said  she, 
weeping.  u  After  so  many  painful  emotions,  and  now  that,  per 
chance,  the  dark  cloud  which  threatened  us  is  passing,  I  cannot, 
would  not  bring  it  back  again."  "  Foolish  child,"  said  Azzo,  draw 
ing  her  close  to  him,  and  placing  her  head  on  his  bosom,  "you  shall 
tell  me  the  remainder  another  time.  I  think  I  believe  all  you  have 
said  ;  let  us  be  happy  again.  So,"  said  he,  kissing  her  tenderly, 
"  let  us  seal  our  mutual  forgiveness  ;  and  again  I  press,  with  a  bride 
groom's  fondness,  this  dear  and  trembling  dove — this  wedded  hand." 

As  he  raised  it  to  his  lips  a  dreadful  pang  shot  through  his  heart — a 
thousand  jealous  barbs  concentrated  in  one,  rent  it  in  twain.  "  No 
ring  !  No  bride  !  No  wife  !"  exclaimed  he.  "  I  see  it  all — clear,  clear 
as  day !  This,  then,  is  the  secret  cause  of  tears  ;  of  prayers  and  agoniz 
ed  confusion  !  The  sacred  pledge  of  love,  of  holy  faith,  of  marriage, 
truth,  and  trust,  you  bartered  as  a  toy,  to  please  your  paramour  !  Go  ! 
I  ask  no  more — all,  all  is  proved.  The  fruit  is  turned  to  ashes  on  my 
lips,  and  thus  I  spurn  it !"  Casting  her  from  him,  he  remained  leaning 
his  head  against  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  in  a  desolation  of  heart  terrible 
to  witness.  "  Oh,  Azzo,  hear  me  !  I  am  innocent.  You  deceive 
yourself  in  doubting  me.  Indeed,  indeed,  I  am  innocent.  I  was 
about  to  tell  you,  when  yon  interrupted  me,  how  rudely  my  hand 
had  been  snatched  by  Orthon  ;  and  how,  in  forcing  it  away  from  him, 
I  lost  the  glove.  Doubtless  the  ring  remained  in  it,  Do  you  not 
remember  how  much  too  large  it  was,  and  how  you  said  I  must  have 
a  little  golden  chain  to  wear  with  it.  and  clasp  it  round  my  wrist? 
Azzo,  dear  Azzo !  cast  away  these  fearful  doubts.  Your  poor  Erica 
would  die  sooner  than  wrong  you  by  loving  another;  and  do  but 
think  one  moment.  Is  it  likely  I  would  have  given  away  that 
ancient,  curious  ring,  even  if  it  had  not  been  your  gift  at  the  altar? 

38 


298  A    LEGEND    OF    AN    OLD    SCOTTISH    CASTLE.     - 

Oh,"  continued  she,  weeping  piteously,  "I  know  you  cannot  think  me 
guilty  of  such  a  sin."  Her  touching  tones  seemed  to  reach  his  heart. 
He  looked  tenderly  in  her  eyes.  "  You  do  look  innocent,"  said  he  ; 
"God  has  made  you  very  fair,  Erica ;  you  should  not  be  wicked." 

"  Nor  am  I,  dear  Azzo  ;  oh,  believe  me,"  said  she,  weeping,  and 
clasping  his  hand  to  her  lips,  her  forehead,  and  her  heart,  in  the 
agony  of  her  entreaty.  There  was  a  little  silence,  broken  only  by 
the  sobs  of  Erica.  The  manner  of  Azzo  wras  now  full  of  affection 
and  pity.  "  Come  here,  my  bird5  my  love,  here,  here,  close  to  my 
breast.  Ah,  Erica,  how  I  love  you  ;  put  your  hand  upon  my  heart, 
for  do  you  know,"  said  he,  with  a  strange,  wild  look,  that  terrified 
her  more  than  his  previous  reproaches,  u  it  was  quite  dead  a  little 
while  ago,  and  now  it  is  alive,  is  it  not,  Erica  ?  Does  it  burn  your 
hand  2"  u  No,  no,  but  it  beats  so  fast."  "  So  it  should  ;  it  loves  to 
beat  for  you.  Dost  thou  love  me,  sweet  Erica  ?"  "  I  would  fain  do 
so,"  said  she,  trembling  as  she  saw  his  eyes  becoming  fixed  and 
glaring.  "  That  is  no  reply,"  said  he.  "  Say  yes,  or  no ;  I  like  an 
honest  answer."  "  You  know  I  do,  but  I  am  afraid,"  said  Erica, 
shuddering  with  terror  as  she  saw  the  vein  on  his  forehead  swelling, 
and  his  eyes  dilating  and  sparkling  with  sudden  fury.  "  Afraid  ? 
true  ;  guilt  is  always  fearful— and  see  !  behold  a  sign  from  heaven  !" 
cried  he,  falling  on  one  knee,  and  dragging  her  down  with  his  left 
hand,  while  with  his  right  he  pointed  to  the  sky  where  a  meteor, 
increasing  in  brightness  as  they  gazed,  shed  a  strange  and  awful 
light  on  the  earth,  enveloping  themselves,  and  every  object  around 
them,  in  an  unnatural  and  lurid  glare,  intense,  and  dazzling.  "  Be 
hold,"  cried  he,  "  the  glorious,  the  dreadful  spectacle  !  Even  at  the 
moment  when  the  word  guilt  passed  my  lips,  there  came  this  sign 
from  heaven,  and  thus,"  said  he,  drawing  his  dagger,  "take  the  reward 
of  guilt !"  "  Of  innocence  !  true,  and  holy,"  murmured  the  dying 
Erica.  Gazing  on  her  prostrate  form,  the  wretched  Azzo,  now  a 
raving  maniac,  rushed  through  the  garden  past  the  affrighted 
nurse,  who  was  hurrying  towards  the  arbour,  and  without  entering 
the  castle,  gained  the  stables,  and  mounting  a  fleet  horse,  galloped 
wildly  towards  the  mountains;  his  flying  figure,  seen  by  the  startled 


A  LEGEND  OF  AN  OLD  SCOTTISH  CASTLE. 


299 


guests,  produced  an  immediate  alarm  ;  they  spread  themselves  over 
the  garden  and  adjoining  chace,  where,  amidst  a  pool  of  blood,  lay 
the  pure,  the  beautiful  Erica.  For  many  years  after  this  event,  Sir 
Alureth  was  a  wanderer  in  foreign  lands,  whither  the  wretched 
Azzo  had  also  retired  to  linger  through  a  long  life,  imprisoned  in  his 
own  castle,  a  moody  maniac.  The  story  of  the  lovely  Erica  is  still 
a  legend  amidst  the  straths  of  Fife  ;  the  brook  still  flows  through 
the  old  gardens  ;  the  remains  of  the  castle  still  survive,  all  linked 
with  her  remembrance,  the  castle- being  even. to  this  day  devoutly 
believed  to  be  visited  by  her  wraith,  on  all  occasions  of  importance 
to  the  interests  or  happiness  of  those  who  dwell  within  its  haunted 
domain  ;  gliding  through  the  ancient  picture  gallery,  or  flitting  from 
chamber  to  chamber,  a  fair  and  delicate  apparition,  in  robes  of 
purest  white  with  long  green  sleeves ;  its  dark  hair  floating  as  it 
glides,  its  countenance  ever  sweet  and  sad,  inspiring  emotions  only 
of  pity  and  of  love. 

Balmanno  Castle  is  that  referred  to :  it  is  in  the  county  of  Fife,  and  is  now  the  property 
of  Major  Belches  of  Invermay.  The  hill  behind  the  castle  commands  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  views  in  Scotland  :  it  was  while  seated  upon  it  that  Sir  Walter  Scott  wrote  that 
magnificent  description  of  Scottish  scenery,  which  forms  the  introduction  to  the  Fair  Maid 
of  Perth. 


D.    A  PPL  ETON    &    CO.,       ^ 

X  E  W    Y  O  II  K  . 
1st  JANUARY,  1858. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

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